


Tyrant

by tenelkadjo



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Batjokes, Bruce switches between bottom and top, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, depictions of ptsd, depictions of violence, please note this is an angst fic, smut in later chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:27:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 62,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26039431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenelkadjo/pseuds/tenelkadjo
Summary: Fic is now complete. Six months after a traumatic night where the Joker attacked Gotham, Bruce finds his life turned upside down once again. When a hijacking goes wrong, Bruce is brought closer to the Joker and finds himself in a game of cat and mouse with the most dangerous criminal in the city. Torn between the strange hold the Joker has over him and being Batman, Bruce grapples with what he wants and what is right.
Relationships: Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 270
Kudos: 564





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this fic has depictions of PTSD. please take note of the tags before reading as i intend this fic to be dark. this is a joker x batman fic.

The rain was coming down unrelenting in thick sheets from heavy clouds that covered the moon. Not an auspicious sign for the night, Bruce thought as he looked out the window of the limo, but maybe he was just being paranoid. Yet it was difficult not to take note of everything even when he wasn’t “working” tonight. A rain like this felt like an ill omen. He wish he could shake the feeling off.

He turned his attention to the night ahead. The opening of the monorail system in Gotham was something he considered a big event. Bruce had funded the project and was happy to see it completed. The subway system was a mess and in badly need of an overhaul after the Joker’s last excursion down there. This had caused the rail system a get bigger push by the local government. To see it completed was something Bruce took pride in. The system would run through the city, safer above ground and more scenic as well. Tonight, it would travel around the city hosting the elite of Gotham in a celebration of it opening later this week.

Security was to be tight but Bruce still couldn’t shake the unease as they approached the station. Something like this would be considered a major event and there would be criminals seeing this as an opportunity to make a bigger name for themselves. To hijack the monorail or kill the people onboard would be effectively wiping out Gotham’s elite and sending a message to the city.

But Bruce couldn’t not show up tonight. It would seem strange for the biggest funder of the project to not be here. That left his hands tied. With the close quarters of the monorail, it would be impossible to change into Batman if something were to arise. That meant he would have to fully trust in the police and the security measures in place. Things would be outside of his control. Bruce didn’t do very well with that.

Through the paparazzi, the crowds, and the people jostling for his attention, it took ages to finally board the monorail. Once Bruce was aboard, however, the real tension set in. He glanced around, trying to take a measure of the security. Would it be enough? The guards blended in so not to attract attention. Most people wouldn’t be able to spot them. But Bruce could. Everyone was thoroughly screened before entering the station and screened again before boarding the monorail. The place was secure as possible. Everything was accounted for. He needed to relax and enjoy the night. The security team and the police were going to take care of things.

The inside of the monorail had been decorated for the event. There was a live band in one of the train cars, a bar in another, and plenty of food. It was a little cramped with all the people inside but it didn’t seem as if anyone minded. Tonight was an adventure, a trip across Gotham, in a state of the art monorail that promised to be the first of many improvements to the city.

After what the Joker did six months ago, it was well needed. The city desperately needed some levity. The storms were unrelenting the past month and Gotham seemed to never fully dry; it remained a watery slog to traverse and darkness lurked even in the daytime.

An hour later, after mingling and allowing himself to have one drink, the monorail began to leave the station. Bruce relaxed slightly. Once they were out on the rails, the chances of anything happening were much lower. It was easier to do something when they were docked versus out on the track. The rain hadn’t let up and the view of the city wasn’t going to be as impressive. The windows were slightly foggy and splashed with the falling rain. The engine was mostly silent but the rain that struck the top of the monorail as it left the station was almost deafening to Bruce. He glanced over at the exit. The security guard was still there. He couldn’t explain why he was so jumpy. He just was. It had been lingering ever since…

“Bruce!” Someone exclaimed, getting his attention.

He forced himself to smile, turn his attention to the woman talking to her. It was Vicki Vale, clutching her iPad, her smile bright but eyes sharp. If anyone would notice something off, it would be her.

And she didn’t disappoint. “Lots of security here tonight, isn’t there? Blends in nicely with the crowd but still…can never truly forget we are in Gotham, can we?” Both sentences were posed as questions to which he didn’t want to answer. Vicki was looking for a story in which there was none – and hopefully wouldn’t be.

“It’s a major event celebrating a turning point in the city,” Bruce answered calmly, “Security would always be here.”

“Anything to protect the elite of Gotham,” She replied casually, smiling for a split second before leaning forward and lowering her voice, “Too bad there wasn’t this much security in the subways six months ago, right?” Vicki then straightened, studying his face.

She was clearly trying to get a rise out of him. Bruce Wayne, the cushy billionaire, safe at his manor while Gotham suffered six months ago. How was she supposed to know that he had been in the subway tunnels as Batman, that every night he had woken up from nightmares of that endless night, that he could see the wreckage around him and danger at every turn no matter where he went or what he did?

“I hope you have a lovely night.” Bruce said, tilting his head towards her and excusing himself. He knew he could have handled that a bit more gracefully. Perhaps came up with a pretty sentence about the security and the future of Gotham. But his head had begun to hurt and he didn’t have the energy for it.

Even so, Bruce felt bad almost immediately. It was unlike him to act like that. It would also do him no favors to start acting out of character especially on a night like this. But as of late, it had become harder and harder not to blur the lines between his life as Bruce and his life as Batman. He needed to do better.

In leaving Vicki, he ended up in the train car he first entered in. This one had the full bar and was the most crowded. He wondered if he should push through the crowd and head back from where he came from. There could be less people there. Might be easier to breathe.

That was when something caught his eye. The security guard stationed at the doors was gone. Bruce scanned the crowd, mumbling a greeting to someone who had walked past, trying to start a conversation with him. Normally, he wouldn’t be so short…normally, he wouldn’t have left Vicki like that…his eyes darted across the crowd. The bad feeling in his stomach began to blossom. Something was wrong. He wasn’t sure what. But the security guard being gone, the loud rain on the roof, the monorail coming to its first easy turn deeper into Gotham – all of it was making his head feel stuffed full of cotton. Difficult to think. Why was he like this?

Someone lightly touched his arm. Bruce flinched, turning to look at the man. What was his name? The man whose name he couldn’t remember opened his mouth to speak but Bruce suddenly excused himself. Nodding at the man, who looked mildly affronted, Bruce wondered where in the monorail he could go for some air. He was feeling trapped on here. Even though it was above ground, something about it reminded him of the subway tunnels. Maybe he would leave early. Instead of staying on the monorail all night as it circled around Gotham, he would wait until it stopped at the station and leave. Some people might talk but –

“No entrance.” One of the security guards stepped forward, blocking Bruce from entering the last train cart.

He frowned. “Why not?”

“Last car isn’t for guests.” The bulky man replied, staring hard at him.

A prickling sensation traveled up the back of his neck. Bruce tried to peer around the guard, trying to remember if all the cars were supposed to open or not. And that missing security guard…

“Sir, I’m asking you to step back.”

“Alright.” Bruce relented, forcing an easy smile on his face. “Just was exploring, that’s all.”

Something was amiss and he wasn’t going to deny that feeling any longer. The only thing was – what could he do about it? He wasn’t Batman and had no way to turn in Batman. To run to the nearest cop would seem out of place for someone like Bruce Wayne, who was always charming yet slightly self-centered.

But before he could do a thing, everything went to hell.

There was a terrible grinding noise almost as if something were being split in half. The car lurched forward, sending Bruce toppling against the side of the bar. He grabbed onto the side and managed to stay upright. The lights flickered before going off, ushering them into darkness. Only a flash of lightning illuminated the monorail car. With a sinking feeling, Bruce noticed what was happening. Their car and the one in front of them had been disconnected from the rest of the monorail which was turning into Gotham.

A split second later, the door which previously Bruce had been barred from burst open. The security force scuttled inside – only now they wore masks and held guns. His stomach swooped. Sure, you could hire all sorts of security for an event to make it as safe as possible. But did it matter when the security was working for the wrong side from the start?

Panic filled the car and people began to scream, throwing themselves uselessly against the windows. There was nowhere to go. They were high up on the tracks, on the outskirts of Gotham, trapped up here with whatever crime boss decided it was worth the risk to cause havoc to the city’s elite.

The security guards shoved their way into the crowd, slamming the butts of their guns against anyone who tried to escape or made too much noise. Bruce remained silent, flicking his way through his options, trying to figure out the game plan.

But his thoughts stalled when a familiar shape came into the car. Tall, too skinny, wearing a mismatched suit a size too big for his thin frame, holding a gun in one hand, green hair wild and messy, with a grin that brought back nothing but bad memories to Bruce, the Joker beamed at everyone in the car.

“Miss me?” He asked and the voice alone slinked up Bruce’s back, bringing back memories of six months ago, fear now a bitter taste in the back of his throat.

The passengers began to scream again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you like my work, please consider taking a look at my patreon! you can get early access to my projects as well as blog posts about my works: https://www.patreon.com/lylabanks


	2. Chapter 2

Bruce recoiled at the sight of the Joker. _It can’t be possible – not now…_ he thought desperately as panic surged through the train car.

No one had seen the Joker for six months. Not since the hell he released on the subways below Gotham. The optimistic said perhaps he died down there; aiming too high, his joke ended up costing him his life. The pessimistic whispered that the Joker lurked in the city, waiting for his time to strike. Bruce knew the pessimistic ones had been correct – hadn’t he been there that night, done things that led him to this very moment? Even so, sometimes he would allow himself a moment of delusion – that perhaps the Joker had died down there after their encounter.

But staring at him right now, Bruce knew how silly those late-night thoughts had been. He had known, after all, what happened in the subway tunnels. It was unlike him to try to fool himself. All he wanted was a respite from the worry festering inside him since that night; to believe even for a second Joker lay dead under the city and he wouldn’t have to see him again.

The emergency lights flickered on in the car, bathing it in red light. The storm raged outside, stronger than it had been all night. One of the armed guards opened the exit door. The wind swept the rain into the car, soaking through Bruce’s tuxedo, getting everyone else wet as well. The Joker didn’t notice. He was still grinning. Bruce didn’t think the grin would leave his face the entire night.

“Sorry to crash the party but I think my invite got lost in the mail,” The Joker was saying, motioning to his guards with those long fingers of his, wearing tight purple gloves, “Understandable! I know the postal service in Gotham needs to be updated…like so many things in the city.” He sneered, his voice dropping an octave.

The guards grabbed the first person and tossed them suddenly off the rail car. The screams kicked up again.

Another person was thrown off. Someone burst into tears. Bruce’s mind was sluggish, slow to react, so unlike him normally that he felt as if he was floating above his body.

“Don’t worry, the elite of Gotham are not being unceremoniously thrown off the monorail!” The Joker yelled in a serious, professional sounding voice over the din, “We are merely moving you to a better location!” He began to laugh loudly – Bruce could hear it now and could hear back in the subway. He felt torn between two places at once and wanted to be in neither.

The Joker might be upbeat now but Bruce knew him well enough to be aware that the Joker’s moods changed at the drop of a hat. One second, he would be jovial, joking and the next second, dark and sadistic. He might seem calm, collected and sane now but Bruce only had to stick around to see the veneer be peeled back.

He didn’t want to be there for that. But he had no idea how to get out of here. He had no idea how he would be able to then make himself return as Batman. Everything about him was thrown off tonight.

The guard grabbed him next. Fingers crushed into his upper arm. Bruce knew he could shake the guard off – but then what? There was no escape and he couldn’t blow his cover. He went slack, allowing the guard to throw him off the monorail car, hoping that maybe there would be a way to escape once he was on the street.

He landed with a thud that smashed his teeth together painfully on a set of what appeared to be gym mats piled across the street. The rain soaked him through instantly, his suit clinging to him, heavy on his body. Henchmen waited, pulling Bruce off the mats and tossing him into a van. An armed guard stood by the doors, raising their rifle to Bruce’s face. The warning was clear. Any funny movements and he would be shot.

In the van were the few others who had been thrown ahead of him. Their scared faces peeked out of designer clothes, fingers trembling. A few seconds later, someone else got tossed inside. Bruce remained unmoving, eyes darting around, trying to get a plan together. The police would be here soon. The fact that the Joker saw this as big return to Gotham, Bruce would gather the original guards had probably been killed and replaced with his own men.

Even so, this was a much smaller operation than the subway incident. Joker liked to go big and hijacking one train cart of the entire monorail and throwing Gotham’s elite into a van seemed…small. It could be that the botched subway incident did more damage to Joker’s reputation than originally thought. Maybe he wasn’t considered a big name anymore in the underworld. Or maybe Joker had something worse planned for tonight and this was merely the opening act.

Sirens. A clap of thunder. Bruce tilted his head to the side, wondering if he imagined it. But from the flicker of hope across the faces of those near him, he knew that the sirens were real. The police were on their way. Two more people were tossed in the van, making it uncomfortably crowded.

The doors to the van slammed shut. Someone let out a loud sob, someone else was praying. Bruce remained silent. His chest was tight, skin on fire, clothes freezing cold against him. Out of himself. He was out of himself, stuck mentally in the subway tunnels when he should be getting an escape ready. The police would need Batman’s help. _I shouldn’t have come tonight,_ he thought dismally, _I should have just taken the flack for not showing up to the grand opening and watched from afar as Batman._ But it was too late to wish such a thing.

From where Bruce was sitting, he could see the steering wheel. There was plexiglass separating the back of the van from the front. He wondered if there was some way he could take it down and distract the driver. The van could veer off the road. But that would be dangerous, possibly injuring some of the occupants. Still chewing on this idea, the driver side opened and one of the henchmen got in. The van had been idling and the driver was about to switch into drive when the passenger side door opened.

The fragile plan Bruce had been putting together shattered at the sight of Joker. He was scowling at the driver, his face twisted into that sneer that Bruce was all too familiar with.

“The police are arriving already,” Joker growled, “Did you or did you not tell me we would have ten minutes before they would be a concern?”

The driver, face as pale as curdled milk, opened his mouth soundlessly, eyes wide with fear. In one swift motion, before Bruce could blink, the Joker raised his gun, pressed it against the man’s head and fired.

His head exploded and splattered like grape jelly across the plexiglass. The panic that struck the small crowd in the van was overpowering. Bruce was shoved against the side of the van as they tried to push their way out of the back, screaming for help. Time seemed to slow down. Joker pressed his face against the plexiglass, peering at them as one might look at zoo animals.

He broke out into a wide smile, his teeth incredibly white, the front two teeth just a little crooked. Bruce couldn’t look away. Joker laughed, that peeling, high pitched laugh of a man having more fun than anyone else around him. The sirens grew louder. The blood smeared against the glass distorted Joker’s appearance. The chaos around Bruce was muted, gone grey in a world of color, where the only thing he could stare at was the Joker.

“Fasten your seatbelts!” He exclaimed, muffled through the glass before kicking the corpse out of the van and settling into the driver’s seat.

The van lurched forward suddenly and they were taking off down the street. From Bruce’s angle, all he could see through the front windshield was smeared streetlights through the rain pouring down in thick sheets. It was impossible to tell where Joker was taking them, if there were other vans behind them or how close the police were.

Joker drove exactly how Bruce expected – like a madman. With his limited vision, all he could do was hope they didn’t drive into something or run an innocent person over. The sounds inside the van were bouncing around his skull. Screams, cries, prayers, someone even slammed their hands against the glass to try to get Joker to release them. Bruce remained frozen, mind as sluggish and mushy as the melting snow on the sidewalks they were careening by. No matter how much he tried to spurn himself into action, he was unable to. Events unfolded around him and he remained static. If it had been anyone else…anyone but the Joker returning, it would have been different…

The sirens grew louder and the driving grew worse. The Joker made a sharp right turn, and Bruce slammed against someone. The scent of the woman’s perfume filled his head, her elbow jammed painfully in his side. Joker was going too fast, Bruce thought as he made another turn that sent them all flying. Between the rain and the speed of the van…

As soon as the thought flitted through Bruce’s head, there was a horrible screeching noise of tires against pavement. His stomach dropped – he knew what was about to happen.

The Joker spun the steering wheel too hard to the right again. The tires glided across the wet pavement, lifted off the road just enough –

He closed his eyes and prepared for the crash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you like my work, please consider taking a look at my patreon! you can get early access to my projects as well as blog posts about my works: https://www.patreon.com/lylabanks


	3. Chapter 3

As Batman, he was used to almost anything. He had been beaten, shot at, thrown off buildings, and yes, been in car crashes.

As Bruce, the most he had to worry about was if his limo was five minutes late to an event.

Without the protection of his bat suit, the van driving off the road and turning over was unlike the previous times he had been in a car crash. The world spun upside down, people screamed, he was pressed between two people as the van turned over. Over the din, Bruce could hear the Joker laughing before everything abruptly went to black.

_In the silence that filled Bruce’s head, he was back in the subway tunnels. The smoke was thick and heavy, his mask filtering it out to allow him to breath more easily. But in the distance, he could hear the screams. The scent of fire filled the air. Each step took him closer yet time slipped through his fingers. A shadow against the flames. Tall, languid, outline of a gas mask…_

Bruce groaned, his head pounding. Someone was tugging on him, trying to yank him to his feet. His vison blurred and he tasted blood in his mouth. He could hear voices but couldn’t understand them yet. In the distance, there were sirens. It was as though he was underwater, slow to react, slow to understand what was going on.

The voices began to clear up, “…hurry up! Boss is coming over here and the cops are coming!” A panicked man. One of Joker’s.

Joker. It all came flooding back to him in a tidal wave. The entire night recapped in his head. They had crashed. Van flipped. The others. Where were the others?

“Shove him in the other van!” The same man, still panicked. “Joker is taking the other one to get out of here!”

Bruce had bit his tongue at some point and couldn’t seem to get the taste of blood out of his mouth. The henchmen tugged him towards one of the vans that was crammed so full of people it looked weighed down. He resisted, trying to dig his heels in the soft earth. They had crashed off the road, into a gutter that had filled with rain water. The ground was muddy underneath his feet. Bruce could just make out the ruined van. It had landed upside down yet he had no memory of the impact.

“Whoa, wait, look at him,” The panicked man said, “Look!”

“At what?” The henchmen tugging on Bruce snapped.

Hard fingers yanked on his chin, forcing Bruce to raise his face. He stared at the two masked men.

“Dude, this is Bruce Wayne.” The panicked one whispered, trying to wipe mud off Bruce’s face to make him more recognizable. “Does Boss know we have him?”

“So what? Throw him in the van with the rest.”

“He’s worth all of the other rich assholes we have in there. He’s worth about ten of them put together.” Before the henchmen could toss Bruce in the van, the panicked man shouted, “Hey, Boss!”

_No, no, no,_ Bruce thought, instinctively trying to break free of the man’s grip. Fear was wiggling up his spine. _Don’t get his attention, please._ Could this night get worse? Facing any other criminal in Gotham tonight would have been better than seeing the Joker…

The familiar figure appeared from the side of the other van which was idling by the road. Bruce balked, his mouth going dry, heart slamming against his chest. The Joker was scowling – apparently the crash was not part of the fun time he planned.

“What is taking you two idiots so long?” He snapped in a low voice. “The police will be here in a minute.”

“Boss, look. Look at who was in the van, boss.” The panicked man had shifted to pure excitement, maybe incorrectly thinking the discovery of Bruce Wayne among the kidnapped people would lead to a raise.

The Joker began to walk over, and Bruce realized he was limping from the impact of the van crashing. He stopped in front of Bruce. He felt the same way he had that night in the subway when he had finally tracked the Joker down in those awful ruined tunnels. His chest constricted and his tongue felt like a giant slug in his mouth.

Gloved fingers on his chin. Different from the henchman’s. Tilted Bruce’s face up to look at him. Time slowed. The rain had soaked Joker’s hair and a couple of strands stuck to his forehead. His lipstick was smeared and there was a cut on his cheek from the crash. Bruce hadn’t been this close to him since the subway. He wanted to scream. He wanted to attack the Joker, put him behind bars. To do the right thing. But as Bruce, he could do nothing. As Bruce, he felt afraid.

The Joker gripped his chin with one hand and with his other, did the same motion as the henchmen. Mud came off onto his gloved fingertips. The rain was still coming down, mingling with the dirt on Bruce’s face, dripping off his suit, rolling down his own fingers.

For a long beat, the Joker looked at him. Studied him. Bruce was acutely uncomfortable.

“This one is coming with me.” The Joker announced, switching his grip to Bruce’s upper arm.

He almost tripped in the mud and fell but the Joker’s fingers had a firm hold on him. He was being dragged towards the other van, away from the captives and the two henchmen. The Joker unceremoniously pushed him into the van and slammed the doors. A few seconds later, he slid into the driver’s seat and took off speeding down the street once more.

Bruce looked around for something to stop the Joker. If they crashed again, the police would catch up. They were almost out of Gotham from the surroundings he noticed once he was pulled from the van wreckage. His ankle had begun to throb, possibly sprained it. His head ached and his tongue felt too big for his mouth. The Joker didn’t pay him any attention. Somewhere in the back of Bruce’s mind, he wondered what the clown prince of crime would do if he knew he had Batman in the back of his van.

The Joker began to slow down until Bruce realized they were going the speed limit. _The other van was a decoy,_ he thought with a jolt. Joker was planning to take them out of the city to some safe house. The other hostages and the henchmen would be expendable. The crash had thrown the entire plan out of order and now Joker was scrambling.

Plexiglass separated him from the Joker and there was no way out. Instead, Bruce sat there, wondering why in the world he had decided to put his faith in security and the police. He shouldn’t have attended as Bruce. He should have been prepared as Batman. He just hadn’t thought that the Joker out of all people would attack tonight. Bruce had spent six months trying to convince himself the Joker died in the tunnels…and now he was stuck alone with him. Was he slipping? A year ago, would he have let this situation unfold? Bruce couldn’t help but think before the subway, he was more on top of things, understood things faster, could react better. Yet ever since then…

The Joker made a turn, the van began to slow before stopping. Bruce looked up. Through the windshield, he saw a house. He had no clue where he had been taken. He was dreading finding out.

The Joker parked, got out of the van. Bruce could hear mumbled voices and peeked through the plexiglass. It was a regular looking house. Were they just in some neighborhood? The doors to the back of the van swung open and two henchmen were there. They came in for Bruce. One grabbed him, the other shoved a cloth bag over his head, rendering him blind.

After that, he was yanked, pulled and dragged across the front yard and into the house. Unable to see anything, Bruce tried to rely on his other senses. If he could figure out where he was in relation to the city, he would know where to go once he escaped.

The surrounding area was quiet minus the idling of the van’s engine. An owl hooted somewhere to his right, far off. There was no hum of the city. Were they in some suburban neighborhood? That seemed so unlike Joker and also could be high risk. Any neighbor could look out the window and wonder what was going on, call the police. There was something he was missing. A piece of the puzzle had yet to land in his lap.

Pulled inside the house, Bruce was hit with a blast of cold air conditioning. He almost tripped when he was pushed up the stairs and managed to grab hold of a bannister. It was crumbling underneath his fingertips. Somewhere old then. Desolate. A bad neighborhood. One that had fallen into disrepair. There were too many of those outside of Gotham. It wasn’t just the city that needed renovations.

A couple minutes later, Bruce was sitting in a chair, hands behind him, handcuffed, with the bag still over his head. The only noise was his breathing. The bag was heavy and hot. His heart rate was accelerated. He didn’t like the feeling of being smothered. Skin warm and itchy. All Bruce could see was the Joker looking at him, studying him, wondering what he could get out of having billionaire Bruce Wayne as a captive.

Footsteps in the hallway. A limp. Him. Bruce’s breath caught. Same footsteps as in the subway tunnels. No Batman to protect him. As vulnerable as he would ever be, at the mercy of a madman. The door creaked when it opened, shut a second later. Click of a lock.

Then, a low voice, slinking up his spine, bouncing around Bruce’s brain.

“I guess this night isn’t a total waste of time. Not with such a treat landing in my lap, isn’t that right, Mr. Wayne?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you like my work, please consider taking a look at my patreon! you can get early access to my projects as well as blog posts about my works: https://www.patreon.com/lylabanks


	4. Chapter 4

Up until six months ago, Bruce had never balked at facing off against the Joker. The clown prince of crime had appeared three years ago with a bang at one of Gotham’s charity balls. He had sardonically made his entrance dressed in an ugly mismatched green and purple ball gown with enough henchmen to take down security in seconds. Bruce hadn’t been in attendance that night, opting instead to be on patrol. By the time he arrived as Batman, the Joker had killed twelve people and was forcing the guests to give him money to stop him from killing others. It was his form of “charity”, he had told Batman at that first meeting, with that twisted grin of his, a gun in one hand, one slender finger resting on the trigger.

It had ended with the Joker narrowly escaping. Bruce caught him three days later and tossed him in Arkham. He assumed that would be the end of it. A week later, Joker somehow escaped. That had been the start of their cat and mouse game. Bruce knew Joker was the worst criminal Gotham had seen – unhinged to the point that the Joker had little regard not only for the people he killed but himself as well. He also knew Joker didn’t have the same motivations as the other criminals in Gotham. He always understood that about him, about their interactions and their respective places in the world.

Until the subway tunnels.

And now Bruce was alone with the Joker…not as Batman, with no protection and no one coming to save him. At the mercy of a tyrant.

The bag still pulled over his face, Bruce tried to control his breathing and listen to the Joker’s footsteps. He was still behind him. The fog in which Bruce had been in all night threatened to choke him.

Fingers on his shoulders. Bruce flinched. The Joker chuckled, lowering his face near his ear. Bruce could feel his breath on his neck. His stomach tightened.

“Just me and Mr. Wayne.” The Joker whispered in a voice low and gravely, one that promised a future that Bruce wanted no part in.

He didn’t speak, still trying to wrangle his emotions under control. But the only thing he could focus on was Joker’s fingers digging into his shoulders. Before Bruce could collect himself, Joker yanked the cloth bag off his head.

Bruce squinted, eyes adjusting to the dark. There was very little light in the room; the only light was from a closed closet, peeking out from around the door. There was nothing else in the room. It appeared to be what was once a bedroom, judging by the old indentations on the carpet from furniture.

The Joker dragged a chair in front of Bruce, spun it around and sat down on it. In the dim lighting, Bruce could just make out the curve of his jaw, the wild look in his eyes. He had only been this close to him once, down in the subway as Batman, and being this close to him without those protections was giving him anxiety.

“Well, well, well,” Joker spoke, his voice now higher pitched, his smile twisting across his face, “And here I was thinking the entire night was a wash!” He laughed loudly. It bounced off the walls.

Bruce remained stoned faced. Joker scowled after a few seconds of laughing.

“Not one for jokes, are you, Mr. Wayne?” Without waiting for a response, he went on, “Such a treat to land in my lap. All those other idiots on the monorail – well, none of them are _you_ , are they? You’re the elite of the elite! The top of the one percent!” He rubbed his gloved hands together. His cheek had been bandaged up, Bruce noticed, and his hair was drying into a messy green mop on the top of his head.

Joker’s eyes narrowed. “Not a talker. I guess if you aren’t making a big speech about how great you are for Gotham, you have nothing to say to someone like me.”

Bruce, sensing that his silence would only anger him, decided to speak. “You’re the one in charge right now.” He said in a clear voice, relieved it didn’t expose his anxiety or fear wiggling around inside of him.

“ _Right now_?” For a split second, Bruce wondered if he had angered Joker too much and prepared to be struck. But no hit came. “Oh, Mr. Wayne, I’m in charge of all of Gotham! I proved that six months ago and I made it clear tonight.” A wide grin, those white teeth in the darkness.

If he had been Batman, he would have said something about how six months ago, the Joker went into hiding after the subway debacle. No one considered him a king. And tonight, the night of his grand comeback, he had crashed the van and lost all his captives but one. He was deluding himself.

But Bruce was not Batman tonight. So, instead, he gave the predictable rich person reply. “You want money? I’ll give you whatever amount of money you want if you let me go.”

The reply had the intended effect. The Joker seemed to lose interest in him immediately. Bruce was just another rich person who offered something Joker didn’t care about. The smile was wiped from his face and he stood up.

Looking down at Bruce, Joker seemed to have no emotions at all. His face was shuttered.

“I don’t want your money,” He said. “But I will use you to get the one thing I do want.”

He yanked the cloth bag over Bruce’s face again. Without another word, the Joker left the room. The door shut behind him, the lock a second later.

Bruce remained there, handcuffed to the chair, trying not to panic at the feeling of being suffocated, of being trapped here with the Joker, of the fact he had no idea how this would unfold – and what he would have to do to survive. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you like my work, please consider taking a look at my patreon! you can get early access to my projects as well as blog posts about my works: https://www.patreon.com/lylabanks


	5. Chapter 5

Bruce was unsure how long he waited in that room. The hours stretched on. The house remained silent. At one point, a masked man came into the room and yanked Bruce off the chair. Still handcuffed, he was led out of the room and into the bathroom. The man then removed the bag off his head, unclasped the handcuffs and locked him in.

The bathroom was run down but had running water. Bruce washed his face, relieved himself, and tried to look out the window. But the glass was frosted and made it impossible to tell anything besides the fact it seemed to be mid-afternoon. He couldn’t hear anyone else in the house. He looked at himself again the mirror.

Dark circles were under his eyes and his lip was split from the crash. He stuck his tongue out. Bitten and still slightly swollen. His hair was a complete mess; it had dried funny from the mud and rain. Bruce leaned closer to the mirror. His skin was pale, almost sickly looking. He was so tired. He just wanted to sleep. He thought of the many times Alfred had talked about bringing someone else to work alongside them and Bruce had dismissed it. _I can handle it,_ he had told Alfred. Now, he felt like a fool.

Afterwards, the bag was put back on, to Bruce’s dismay, and he was returned to his room. Sensing the man was about to leave, Bruce decided to speak.

“Please,” He said in the voice of a confused rich person who didn’t understand their situation, “I’ll give you money. Just tell me where I am. Or what is going on.”

Handcuffs snapped back on. Bruce kept trying.

“Can I get some food? I’m so hungry.” His voice was muffled through the bag – God, he hated this thing. It was so hot and suffocating.

“Shut up.” The henchmen said gruffly.

“Please, just some food. I haven’t eaten in so long.” Bruce pleaded although he had trained himself to go without food for long periods of time. He just wanted more time without the bag on his head.

“The Joker didn’t say nothing about giving you food. He just said make sure you don’t piss yourself for when the trade happens.”

“Trade?” He leapt on the slip up.

“Shut up.” The henchman snapped.

“I’m being traded to who? Please, I’ll give you as much money as you want, please…”

But the promise of riches fell on deaf ears because the next second, the door slammed shut and Bruce was alone again.

Trade. To get the one thing Joker wanted…

And with a swoop of his stomach, Bruce suddenly knew what that meant.

*

_The screams filled the air. The subway had derailed, crashed into the station, destroying it completely, killing more than Bruce could even fathom, leaving hundreds of others injured. He chased the Joker down the tunnel, through the flames and smoke, trying to ignore the screams. He naively thought it was just the one subway train that had derailed but the further down the tunnel he went, the horrifying realization of the scale of the operation made Bruce start to feel queasy…_

*

Rough hands woke Bruce up from the nightmare. Startled, he flinched and was promptly struck on the back of his head.

“Don’t move, prick.” He was being yanked to his feet by what felt like two henchmen.

“Where are you taking me?” Bruce asked in a plaintive voice, still playing the role of clueless rich man.

“Shut up.” He was pushed forward and almost stumbled. His ankle had been steadily throbbing since the accident and he was sure that it was swollen.

Regaining his footing, Bruce was yanked down the stairs, out of the house and into the nighttime air. It smelled like fresh rain. In the distance, he heard thunder. He was expecting to be put back into the god forsaken van. But he was shoved into something with nice leather seats. His fingers trailed over it, tension in his chest –

And then mercifully, the bag was removed from his head. He took in a deep gasp of air and tried to get his bearings. But the sight of the Joker brought Bruce up short.

They were in a limo. The Joker was leaning back against the soft leather, wearing a suit that was perfectly tailored to fit his slender frame. The makeup had been carefully reapplied – the thick white paint, the bright red lips, none of it smeared on the collar. The bandage on his cheek remained although it was now covered in the white paint. His green hair, usually unruly, was combed neatly, curling against the nape of his neck. He wore purple gloves to match the royal purple of the suit. The undershirt was a pale green. He was holding a slim walking cane, probably to try to hide the limp. The Joker looked formal…the most formal Bruce had ever seen him.

And he knew why.

The hum of the engine turned on and the limo backed out of the driveway. With the bag off his head, Bruce risked a glance out the window. As he thought, they were in a desolate and abandoned neighborhood. The fear was back, alive in his stomach, a feral thing. Being this close…knowing that there was no way this was going to end well…

The Joker spoke, breaking the silence. “Frankly, I’m offended. Are you not going to offer _me_ any money? You offered it to everyone else.” His voice was lilting, playful – he was in a good mood.

Playing the dumb rich asshole on top of everything else left Bruce exhausted. He wasn’t sure if he could handle trying to go mentally against Joker right now.

“I’ll give you whatever you want.” He managed to say, sounding pleading.

A smirk crossed the Joker’s face. But he wasn’t looking at Bruce. He was looking right through him, clearly imagining how the night was going to play out in his favor.

“Oh, don’t worry. Don’t worry one bit,” The Joker’s eyes came into focus, looking at Bruce, “You’re giving me the one thing I want,” He grinned, so wide it was as if his face split in two. Those white teeth glinted. Bruce found himself staring at those slightly crooked front teeth again. He remembered the punch he had delivered, making Joker’s teeth crooked.

Still grinning, Joker leaned forward. Bruce could smell a strange pleasant scent off him. It smelled faintly like cinnamon mingled with clean clothes.

“What do you want?” Bruce asked in a shaky voice, knowing the answer yet dreading it all the same.

“Why the only reason I remain in Gotham. The only reason I do anything. I want Batman.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you like my work, please consider taking a look at my patreon! you can get early access to my projects as well as blog posts about my works: https://www.patreon.com/lylabanks


	6. Chapter 6

Bruce knew he had to tread carefully. The Joker looked pleased with himself, thinking to trade the billionaire for his arch-rival. But there would be no trade. In no outcome could Bruce see this going according to Joker’s plan.

“You think Batman is going to give himself up for me?”

“His code of honor will leave him no choice.” The grin had left Joker’s face and he once again was leaning back against the plush seating of the limo as they glided towards Gotham. “If he doesn’t show up, I shoot you in the head. Batman wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing he allowed the darling billionaire of Gotham City killed because he didn’t want to appear.” He looked self-assured.

The worst thing was that Bruce knew he was right. If he hadn’t been the one captive, there was no way he would have stood by if the Joker wanted to make a trade. The death of someone on his watch was not something he could have let slide.

But how could Batman show up when he was currently sharing a limo ride with the Joker?

Even though it was freezing cold in the limo, Bruce could feel sweat beading on the back of his neck. Compared to the Joker, who looked pristine, he knew his appearance was a far cry from the normally put together Bruce Wayne he presented to Gotham. That added another element of feeling out of control in the situation.

Joker had lost interest in him again. Why would Bruce Wayne be interesting when Batman was waiting for him? His ankle throbbed painfully, and he slumped against the seats. He turned his head just enough to look out the window. They were in the city now. The thunder grew louder. Another storm. Threatening snow. His mind drifted. Instead of focusing on the nightmare unfolding around him, Bruce wondered if it would be a heavy snowfall. The weather could never seem to make up its mind here.

The Joker didn’t speak the rest of the drive. Both men had turned inward, thinking about the same thing…the arrival of Batman. Bruce’s body was sore and sluggish. He longed to be at home. He would sleep for a week. No, two weeks. Yet even has he thought it, he knew that wasn’t true. It was an escape to daydream and pretend he could shut out Gotham City. But being Batman meant he could never fully close that door.

Bruce wondered how Joker had made it known he wanted the trade. It wasn’t as if he had a direct line to Batman. Whatever he did, something must have happened for them to be heading to the trade point. That meant someone had gotten in touch with Joker. The police? Alfred? How long until people wondered why Batman wasn’t around?

Questions with no answers. Bruce was dreading finding out how this was going to go. The limo began to slow as they turned down an alley. Joker was tapping his fingers impatiently against the walking cane. Bruce had never seen him dressed so nicely before. There was a twisted elegance to his appearance. Handsome in a disturbing way. He looked away from him, unsettled.

The limo doors opened. Bruce was still handcuffed. A henchman reached in and pulled him out. He hit his head on the top of the limo, banging it painfully, the headache kicking back up. The Joker stepped out easily behind him. Droplets of rain struck against Bruce’s face as he looked up at the building they had parked by.

“Let’s go, Mr. Wayne!” Joker trilled, pushing past him. “We don’t want to be late.”

Surrounded by henchmen, Bruce followed the Joker into the building. It was an empty office building. His footsteps echoed across the floor. His ankle was hurting so much that Bruce was limping alongside Joker. They went into the elevator. Bruce could feel Joker’s energy pouring off him as the lift took them up.

_He thinks this is it. Everything he wanted is about to land in his lap,_ Bruce thought as his eyes traced the Joker’s jaw.

He had never been this close to the Joker before and not been trying to arrest him or stop him from hurting someone or…he brushed the memory away. It was strange to be so close to him and not have the Joker care or glance twice in his direction. Bruce wasn’t sure how he felt.

The elevator doors opened, and they were on the roof. The rain was coming down steadily and the moon was covered by clouds. The henchmen remained by the elevator as Bruce and Joker walked to the middle of the rooftop and waited.

Bruce wasn’t sure how long they would be waiting. How long until Joker realized Batman wasn’t coming? And would he be killed then and there? If he was going to be shot, then he would have to break cover and do what he could to get away. That would raise the Joker’s interest which Bruce didn’t want. But forced in a corner…

“He’s here.” Joker said gleefully, taking a step forward.

Alarmed and also confused, Bruce followed the Joker’s gaze. Across the way, on the roof opposite there, stood Batman. He could just make out the silhouette. _What the…_

“Batsy!” Joker crooned, extending his arms out as if he was seeing an old friend. “I knew you would come! You wouldn’t want the blood of Gotham’s favourite billionaire on your hands!”

“Joker.” Batman said, voice modified through the mask.

Bruce frowned, his mind flicking through the various scenarios that could be unfolding. Someone pretending to be him? No, the voice was too dead on. Spliced together audio, most likely. Alfred could have done that part easily. But he wasn’t sure how he could still be looking at Batman. He squinted, trying to figure it out, but it was difficult with no moonlight and the rain.

“Come down here so I can turn over the billionaire!” Joker said earnestly.

_His excitement is blinding him,_ Bruce thought. So close to his goal, Joker was not thinking clearly.

“I want Mr. Wayne first.” Batman said after a moment’s pause. Alfred trying to splice the audio together quickly, Bruce thought.

The Joker chewed on his bottom lip, smearing lipstick on his teeth. The rain was soaking through his nice suit. The immaculate image the Joker had constructed was already falling apart.

“What’s to say you don’t just take him and go?” He scowled before reaching for Bruce and tugging him forward. “It doesn’t matter if you try to take him. I can shoot him before you can leave. You’ll have his blood on your hands. Come down here and get him.”

“No,” Batman repeated. There was a pause and then he said, “I want Bruce to cross the pathway. Once he’s on the other side, then I’ll come over.”

The two buildings were connected by a walkway. Bruce could feel Joker weighing the situation, trying to figure out Batman’s angle. _Once I cross the walkway, the police will come in,_ Bruce thought. Surely, the idea must have crossed the Joker’s mind as well. Even though he had Bruce, the police had Batman. The unease settled on the Joker’s shoulders. Bruce could see it flicker across his face. _He isn’t going to let me walk across,_ he thought desperately.

In the next second, Joker pulled out his gun and pressed it against Bruce’s head. “Do not press me on this, Batsy!” He shouted across the building, “I’ll shoot him right now!”

Bruce went still when he felt the gun against his head. Time seemed to slow down. With death looming over him, the clouds suddenly parted. Moonlight spilled across the rooftops. The illumination only lasted a couple seconds before the moon was swallowed up again. But it was just enough light for Bruce to figure out how Batman was here. From the telltale flicker at the edge of Batman’s cape, he realized it was some sort of hologram – tech that Alfred and him had been working on. Not complete though. Still had flaws.

The moon was once again covered by clouds. The Joker lowered the gun. Bruce thought he was going to agree and let him cross.

But instead, he tugged Bruce back behind him.

“Changed my mind!” He shouted at Batman before turning to look directly at Bruce.

“I’m keeping him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you like my work, please consider taking a look at my patreon! you can get early access to my projects as well as blog posts about my works: https://www.patreon.com/lylabanks


	7. Chapter 7

Everything seemed to happen at once. After Joker’s declaration, the police sirens kicked up at once. They were extremely close. Joker yanked Bruce behind him, taking off towards the elevator. His bad leg dragged behind him a little, Bruce noted. The henchmen spread out across the roof, getting ready for a fight. The elevator doors opened. Before Bruce was forced inside, he looked over his shoulder. The Batman hologram stood in place, unmoving and not reacting to the chaos unfolding around it.

It was clear Joker had seen the flicker of the hologram at the same time Bruce did. Realizing it was a set-up, Joker decided to cut the meeting short and run for it. _I should have a bullet in my head,_ Bruce thought, _so why don’t I?_

Joker was oddly calm in the elevator ride. There was a smugness to him that Bruce disliked. He thought perhaps he could use the chaos to his advantage. The cops would be close. He could escape. But being handcuffed made things trickier. The idea of trying to attack the Joker this close and then make a run for it…

_Why do I keep hesitating? I need to get out of here and yet the fear is rendering me frozen in place. I didn’t use to be like this,_ he thought, irritated, willing himself to do something. _Once the elevator doors open, I’m going to attack. Even if I can throw him off balance, it will give me an edge. As soon as they open._

Bruce tensed, getting ready to lunge. If he threw his weight against the Joker, he could slam him against the elevator wall and knock him to his feet. That would be enough to get out of there.

The elevator doors opened. Time slowed. Bruce pushed off the balls of his feet, ready to strike, his heart slamming against his rib cage. But just as he lunged, the Joker turned around. His smile was wide, splitting his face in half, eyes dancing like fires in the dark. Something plunged into his neck. Bruce stumbled. Whatever was in the needle seemed to affect him immediately. The force behind his attack faltered and died as he slumped against the Joker. He was freezing cold from the rain.

_What the…_ Bruce’s muddled head tried to keep up with the fact he had been drugged out of the blue. Did the Joker keep that on him? Was it something special for this trip? He hadn’t even seen Joker reaching for it in the pocket of his jacket.

His thoughts began to swirl. Darkness poked at the edge of his vision. He tried to hold on but everything was slipping through his fingers. His eyelids began to flicker shut. The Joker had let him slump to the floor of the elevator and loomed over him, starting to laugh.

Bruce tried to speak but his jaw felt locked shut. The Joker kept laughing. The laugh started to sound distorted. Far away and so close. His face began to morph as well. It cracked in half, like an egg, and began to blur like paint being stroked with a brush. Bruce’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and everything went dark.

*

_Somehow, the Joker had derailed every subway train in the city. They had all run off the tracks, into the walls, onto the platforms, wherever they were when Joker’s operation went into effect. Bruce had no idea how long he had been planning it. It made his head dizzy to think about something done on this grand a scale. The Joker craved chaos. He thrived on it. Tonight would be his night._

_The scent of burning flesh filled the air. So many fires, so many dead or injured. He could not hope to save them all. He was determined to bring Joker to justice. Something boiled deep inside him – a rage that scared him._

_The Joker stood in front of Bruce. The flames illuminated him. He was waiting, Bruce realized, probably to gloat and deliver his speech about how everything had gone to plan. He was wearing a mask, his suit covered in soot, ash covering his green hair. A demon, Bruce thought looking at him, the rage overpowering him._

_The Joker outstretched his hands. “Bats! You came to my party!”_

_“It’s over, Joker,” Bruce said, thinking about the best way to take him down._

_“It’s never over!” He said, voice muffled from the mask, grin evident. “What are you going to do, Bats? Send me to Arkham?” He began to laugh._

_His laughter bounced off the walls, off the flames, off the bodies that littered the subway. Bruce could feel the rage boil over. Without thinking, he lunged –_

*

Bruce gasped for air, clawing at his throat, sitting up and kicking his legs. It took him a few seconds to realize he wasn’t in the subway tunnels. It had just been a nightmare. Embarrassed, he tried to get his bearings. His head ached. A monster headache seemed to be forming right behind his eyes. His ankle was still throbbing. His throat felt raw. Had he been screaming in his sleep?

His eyes adjusted to the light. He was in a big bed with many pillows and layers of soft blankets. During his nightmare, Bruce had gotten tangled up in them. He pulled himself free. The sight of his ruined suit triggered memories – the meeting with the fake Batman, Joker realizing it wasn’t right, and the needle jabbed into his neck.

But he had no idea where he was and how he got here. Slowly, Bruce slid out of bed. His body protested. He wasn’t sure how long he had been knocked out. Everything since stepping on that stupid monorail had been completely out of his control. He was run ragged.

Bruce looked around the room. It contained a dresser, which was empty upon inspection, a lamp which offered soft light, a TV that didn’t work, and a closet which had two empty hangers. There were no windows.

Attached to the room was a bathroom. It was neat and tidy and looked not to have been used very often. The shower was large with a rainfall showerhead and glass doors. There was a separate tub.

Bruce found himself looking at his reflection. There was a large bruise on his neck surrounding the puncture mark from the needle. _So, that absolutely happened,_ Bruce noted. Since the subway, his memory had been a bit funny sometimes. He didn’t even look like himself. The stubble lining his jaw made him wonder if he had been out for a day…perhaps two. As if in response, his stomach grumbled loudly. He couldn’t remember the last time he ate.

Unsure of where he was, he trailed over to the door and tried the handle. Locked. So, this was a fancy prison cell. Where had Joker taken him? And why hadn’t Joker shot him when the deal went to hell?

He wondered if it had been Alfred’s idea for the holographic Batman. It couldn’t have been anyone else’s but their tech wasn’t yet complete. That explained the flicker around the cape. It was a risk – and it failed. But what was Alfred supposed to do? Commissioner Gordon would have expected Batman to show up to retrieve Bruce Wayne. Alfred had done the best that he could, patching his voice together from other audio clips and hoping the hologram would have fooled Joker. He wondered if he had talked to Gordon and said, what…maybe that Batman had fallen ill. Would Gordon have believed that? He was unsure. He hoped he would be able to ask Alfred. He just needed to get out of here.

For the thousandth time since the monorail hijacking, Bruce wondered what was wrong with him. To go to an event with no clear way to become Batman, no way to contact Alfred – he hadn’t been able to alert him before being tossed in the van, and the crash had smashed his phone to pieces – so many missing gaps that he never used to let slip through. But it had been like that since the subway. Tiny mistakes leading to bigger ones resulting in the clusterfuck of a mess unfolding around him.

Not for the first time, he dwelled on how Alfred had kept telling him to bring someone else to the team. But Bruce had been stubborn. He worked better alone…and if he brought someone on and they got injured or worse, he would blame himself. But if he had brought someone to the team, this would have played out very differently.

The lock suddenly clicked. Surprised, Bruce snapped out of his thoughts and took a step away from the door. A henchman stepped in, wearing a mask. He thrust a pair of clean clothes towards him. Confused, Bruce took them.

“You have an hour to clean up. Shower and put these on.” The man growled.

“What? For what?”

“For what?” The man repeated as if Bruce were daft. “Dinner with the Joker, idiot.”

The door shut, locked, leaving Bruce alone, clutching his new clothes, wondering what in the world was going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you like my work, please consider taking a look at my patreon! you can get early access to my projects as well as blog posts about my works: https://www.patreon.com/lylabanks


	8. Chapter 8

Even though Bruce was mystified by the turn of events, the shower felt like the best one in his life. The temperature was perfect, and he lingered underneath the hot water, allowing it to run over his skin. He scrubbed furiously, trying to get the grime off him. The shampoo smelled like roses. It would have been a relaxing shower if the fact he was about to have dinner with the clown prince of crime wasn’t looming over his head.

Still unsure why the Joker hadn’t killed him, Bruce told himself he couldn’t afford anymore slip ups. He needed to be alert and prepared for anything. He had bumbled through everything since being kidnapped. He couldn’t afford to keep dropping the ball.

After drying off, he put on the suit. It was a little too big for him and unremarkable looking. It was not a suit Bruce would ever wear on his own. But he was so happy to be out of that run-down ruined thing he had been wearing for ages that he welcomed the change of clothing.

_Dinner with Joker,_ Bruce mused, running his fingers through his hair. The fear was back, wiggling in his stomach. To be close to Joker again was not something he looked forward to. He couldn’t help but feel he was being swept along with the tide, passively allowing himself to drown.

One hour later, the door unlocked and two henchmen stepped inside. Bruce was ready for them. They didn’t pull him or put a bag over his head. There was a distance now, he noted, as if Joker told them not to touch him. He wasn’t sure if that made him more nervous.

They walked down a narrow hallway. No windows. Bruce was starting to think they were underground somewhere. His skin began to itch at the thought.

They stopped in front of a set of double doors. One man opened it and then both stepped back. Bruce gingerly stepped inside, wondering what he was getting into.

In front of him was a small wooden table. There were flowers hanging off it, red roses and lilies, baby’s breath, a bunch of different types that had no rhyme or reason to them. In the middle, almost dangerously, perched a single candle. The rest of the room was almost bare minus a set of old fashioned looking lamps in the corners. There was a mantle with an old clock placed on it. The clock was covered in a thick layer of dust. No decorations. No windows. Just the table with another door on the opposite side. To the kitchen, perhaps?

At the table was the Joker. When he saw Bruce, he perked up. Bad sign. Now he had an interest in Bruce Wayne? He was wearing the suit from before; it was now dried and cleaned. His makeup was neatly reapplied. His long fingers were entwined, propping his chin on them. A smile broke out across his face at the sight of him.

Bruce had no idea what to say. Before he could say a word, Joker pushed away from the table, quickly walking over to him. His limp was still evident. The crash must have injured him more than he was letting on. He threw one arm across Bruce’s shoulders, causing him to flinch. If Joker noticed, he didn’t remark on it.

“Mr. Wayne!” He exclaimed as if they were old friends. “You made it!”

He had no idea how to respond. Of course he had made it. It wasn’t as if there was a choice. Joker steered him to the table, pressing down on Bruce’s shoulders to force him into his seat. The cloying scent of flowers filled his lungs. Joker sat across from him.

“Are you hungry?” Joker asked.

“Yes.” He admitted.

Joker clasped his hands together. “Great! Dinner will be ready soon. But let us chat first, alright?”

Bruce replied warily, “Sure.”

Joker pointed a long finger at him, his smile wide and bright. “You had me fooled. I admit it!” He tossed his hands in the air, chuckling. “What can I say? Sometimes…even I can be fooled.”

“I don’t follow.”

“I think it would have worked! I really would have fallen for it! That hologram, the spliced audio!”

Bruce wondered if he had been dragged here to discuss Batman failing. He was unsure which direction the conversation was going to take which made him feel more unsettled. He didn’t reply, watching the animated way the Joker talked.

“But the moonlight…well, that really fucked you over.” Joker leaned back in the chair and clapped his hands together twice.

A masked man came out of the door behind Joker holding two plates with coverings on them. Placing one in front of Bruce and the other in front of Joker, he knocked some of the flowers off the floor to make room for the plates. Then, the man left from the way he came.

“Well, come on!” Joker said, tapping his fingers against the arm of the chair. “Eat up!”

Bruce’s chest was suddenly tight. Something was off. The Joker should have killed him, not dress him up and bring him to dinner. He didn’t want to lift the covering off the plate. No, in fact, it was the last thing he wanted to do in the entire world. A flower had fallen into his lap. Bruce’s hands found it, ran his fingers over the petals nervously. So many fucking flowers. Joker’s idea of making the dinner formal.

The clown prince of crime looked impatiently at Bruce. With nothing to do but lift the covering, Bruce took a deep breath, released his grip on the flower and raised it.

There was a dead bat on the plate.

Joker began to cackle immediately – the same long, twisted cackle he let out in the subway six months ago. It was the noise he released when he was victorious. Bruce understood instantly.

Joker slapped his hand against his knee as he laughed. Tears sprung to his eyes and he wiped them delicately off his cheeks. The tears mingled with the white makeup he had put over his already pale skin, leaving white smears on his gloved fingers.

“It almost worked!” Joker exclaimed. “But once I saw the hologram flicker, I thought…why isn’t Bats here? Why would Bats let Bruce Wayne die? I couldn’t believe that he just didn’t care to show up! And that’s when it clicked! _You’re Batman_!”

Bruce didn’t know what he was feeling. Numb, mostly. Tired. And maybe…maybe, deep down, relief. Just a twinge. Even though the fact the Joker now figured out who Batman was left him extremely vulnerable, he couldn’t even muster up any fear. He was emotionally tapped out. There was no point in even denying it. He couldn’t come up with any convincing cover story and he didn’t even think he could lie well at this point.

Joker was relishing the moment and kept speaking. “Who sent the hologram? They were splicing audio together too! What technology! I guess that’s what money gets you, huh? That means at least one other person know it is you, right? They must have! Oh, is it Gordon? The one lone man on the force who always sides with the Bat and he’s actually working with him! I’m so curious. I just want to crack your head open and sift through your brain for all the answers.” He smiled but it was different this time – that dark and ever shifting grin that meant danger. “Oh, we have so much to talk about, Batsy.”

Bruce pushed the bat away, his appetite lost. “I guess we do.”

“What are the odds that I tossed Mr. Wayne in my van and the entire time I had Batman!”

Sick of Joker’s gloating, he said, “When are you telling everyone?”

Joker blinked. His eyes widened in surprise. “Tell everyone? I don’t plan on letting anyone know. Not unless you give me no choice, of course.” He clapped his hands twice again.

The masked man came back out, took the bats away. A few seconds later, the man returned with real food this time. It was a steak and baked potato. Once they were alone, Joker began to cut his steak. It looked almost raw. Blood oozed out across the plate. Bruce felt faintly sick.

“Letting people know…well, then it isn’t funny anymore,” Joker went on, “The fact that only I know the precious Batman is Bruce Wayne…I figured it out where everyone else failed. I’m not sharing that.” He popped a piece of steak in his mouth and chewed, a thoughtful expression on his face. Then he shook his head. “No, I am not sharing that. What would those fools do with this information? Try to bomb Wayne Enterprises? Hire a hitman to kill you?” Another piece of steak popped in his mouth as he began to cut open his baked potato. “Not funny at all.”

“And derailing all the subways and setting fires in the tunnels is funny?” Bruce snapped.

He hadn’t meant to bring up the subway already. The Joker knew who he was, could kill him easily and not give it a second thought. Nothing was in his favor. Except…

The Joker lived and breathed to interact with Batman. Bruce doubted now that he had figured out who he was that he would just kill him if he ran his mouth a little. He was banking on that. Otherwise things would turn south quickly.

Joker stopped eating, lowering his knife and fork. He looked at him evenly. Bruce stared back. For a few seconds, the two men were silent.

Finally, Joker spoke. “Do you really want to go into that now?” His voice was quiet, sounded like steel. Bruce knew what he was hinting at. The ground shifted, felt uneven.

“Do you?” He countered.

“No. Why do you want to spoil our first meal together, Bats?” Joker gave a small shake of his head. A lock of green hair fell out of place, framed his face. “Eat your food.”

“I’m not hungry.”

He rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. Of course you are. When was the last time you ate?”

Bruce knew he was right. His stomach grumbled in response, betraying him. He hesitated for a moment before picking up his knife and fork. His steak appeared to be cooked much more than Joker’s. He cut into the meat.

Joker watched him and when the knife sliced through the steak, he smiled. His teeth were stained with blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you like my work, please consider taking a look at my patreon! you can get early access to my projects as well as blog posts about my works: https://www.patreon.com/lylabanks


	9. Chapter 9

Bruce laid in the bed in his new prison cell, staring at the ceiling. The place was silent like a tomb and the suffocating feeling of being underground was eating at him again. His stomach was full though and sleep was tugging at his brain.

_I have no idea what to do,_ he thought sleepily, _I can’t even process the fact Joker knows I’m Batman._ He was in a lot of danger…but before he knew it, he was asleep.

_He slammed his fist into Joker’s stomach to get him to stop cackling. He toppled over and Bruce dug his fingers into Joker’s jacket, heaving him up and pinning him against the wall of the subway tunnel. The fire roared nearby, whipping through one of the subway cars. Bruce could see a charred hand poking out of one of the doors, fingers curled and blackened. Joker was laughing through his mask._

_“Hit me again!” He urged Bruce on._

_He didn’t even feel like himself. It was as though he floated above his body and couldn’t control his emotions. Bruce brought his fist back down against the Joker. He could feel two of Joker’s ribs crack from the punch. Joker was still laughing even then._

_Bruce grabbed Joker’s mask and tugged it off him. It snapped off, fell to the floor. He struck Joker in the face, breaking his nose and splitting his lip. The rage boiled over, blinded him. He wanted to kill Joker, to make him pay for what he did to Gotham tonight._

_His hands circled around Joker’s thin neck. It would be so easy to snap it. He squeezed harder. Joker’s head rolled back, eyelids fluttering. Blood flowed freely from his nose and lip, rolling down his chin, staining the collar of his shirt. His teeth were smeared in blood and lipstick. Bruce could feel himself about to topple over that line…he had promised he wouldn’t…his head swirled…_

Bruce awoke with a gasp, sitting up and grabbing at his neck. His heart hammered in his chest and guilt and fear gnawed at him. His eyes tried to adjust to the fact there was no light. It was too dark. He was underground. Chest tight, breathing quickly, Bruce leaned over and turned on the bedside lamp.

Soft light filled the room. Still, he couldn’t shake the nightmare or the feeling of being trapped. He got out of bed and went into the bathroom, shutting the door and going to the sink. Turning on the faucet, he waited until the water was warm and splashed it on his face.

_I need to get my shit together. I need to get out of here._ And then what? Joker knew who he was. He was exposed. Alfred would be in danger too. The Joker would not leave him alone. Everything would be different now. How could he venture out into Gotham as Batman and try to stop criminals while knowing the Joker was fully aware he was Bruce Wayne? Batman was meant to isolate and protect his civilian identity from the world. Without that, who was he?

After washing his face, he opened the bathroom door, turned to the right and came to a sudden stop. Near the night table, the soft lighting washing over him, stood the Joker. Bruce took a step back. He could smell cinnamon and cleaned clothes.

“Why are you here?” Bruce asked. His voice wavered a little and he inwardly cursed himself for the slip up. Letting Joker know he was unnerved was not a good idea.

“I realized at dinner I forgot to tell you that you will be returning to Wayne Manor tomorrow.” Joker’s face was in shadow, making it impossible to tell what expression resided on his face.

“What’s the catch?”

Joker pressed his hand to his chest as if wounded. “That hurts, Batsy. You think I was going to keep you here forever? I admit, it was an enticing idea. But I think it would be more fun if you went back to your perfect life and continued to protect Gotham.”

“Why would you want me out in the city?” Bruce took a step towards Joker, trying to see his face. “It would be easier to kill me.”

“Kill you?” Joker got onto the bed, dragging his knees across the mattress to the edge closest to Bruce. He was illuminated from the back now, face still in shadow. Something about seeing him on the bed jolted Bruce. “And end all the fun?”

“This isn’t fun.” He snapped.

“Oh yes, it is, Bats. And you know it.”

Bruce wanted him gone. He wanted this nightmare to end. He thought about his dream. No, not a dream. A memory. Shame of his loss of control burned inside him. Joker reached out for him. Gloved fingers around his wrists. Pulled him towards the edge of the bed.

With Joker on his knees, Bruce had to look down at him. Up this close, he could faintly make out Joker’s face. The position unnerved him. With the memory of the subway tunnels so fresh…

“Do you ever think about it?” Joker whispered in a voice so low that Bruce had to strain to hear it.

“No.” He lied.

“Oh, Bruce,” His name was a sigh on Joker’s lips, a wisp of fabric against his cheek, “I know you do. Don’t lie to me.”

His gloved hands went over Bruce’s and pulled them up before placing them gingerly on his neck. The feeling of Joker’s bare skin against his hands seem to electrify him. Bruce’s breath caught yet Joker’s remained unchanged – steady and quiet.

Joker kept his hands over his. Bruce didn’t wrap them around his neck, just left them against his cold skin. He wanted to pull his hands free yet something rooted him into place. He could feel Joker’s pulse underneath his fingertips. Was he imagining it or was it accelerated?

“That loss of control,” Joker whispered. Bruce felt his throat vibrate against his hands. “I thought you were going to kill me. When I blacked out, I didn’t think I’d wake back up.”

Bruce didn’t want to talk about this. He didn’t want to relive it. The memory of choking Joker in those awful tunnels, the way his body went limp, his eyes had rolled into the back of his head. The awful sensation that Bruce had killed him – and maybe he was okay with it. Joker was not a good person, after all. He had killed hundreds that very night. Bruce had just been so furious. It ripped through his body and blotted out all logic and reasoning.

“What did you think, Bruce, when I went limp under your grip?” Joker’s voice was lilting, raising up and down in an oddly melodic way. “Did you think you had killed me? Were you happy? When did the panic, shame and guilt settle in?”

Being like this with Joker…the room dark, Joker on his knees on the bed, Bruce’s hands around his neck – it was too much. Overwhelmed him. Memories of the tunnels buzzed in his head. He could see the blood staining Joker’s shirt, his makeup smeared, blood mingling with lipstick, Bruce’s hands gripping his neck. And Joker now, smelling of cinnamon and clean clothes, almost vulnerable, speaking in that way to him…

Bruce pulled his hands free, taking a step away from Joker.

“You need to go.” Bruce said with a gasp, heart slamming in his chest.

He expected Joker to be angry, to fight against him, something. But he slid off the bed without a word and walked past Bruce without looking at him. A few seconds later, the door to the hallway opened and shut behind Joker. He didn’t lock it.

Bruce slumped against the wall, closing his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you like my work, please consider taking a look at my patreon! you can get early access to my projects as well as blog posts about my works: https://www.patreon.com/lylabanks


	10. Chapter 10

The Joker did not escort Bruce back to Wayne Manor. In the morning, two guards came, and blindfolded him. Then Bruce was ushered into a limo and taken home. When it pulled up to the front doors, the blindfold was removed and Bruce got out of the limo, watching it drive off.

The temperature was cold, cutting through the fabric of his suit jacket. He stood there for a few moments, trying to take in the fact he was home. Things were fucked but he was home. He tilted his face back to the sky. Overcast. Will probably rain tonight. At least he would be above ground and not with the Joker.

The front door opened. Bruce looked over his shoulder. Alfred stood there, an expression of surprise and disbelief on his face.

“What did I miss?” Bruce joked in a tired voice.

*

As much as Bruce wanted to crawl in bed and sleep, there were procedures to be done. If he had been Batman, Alfred would have done a check up on him, giving him meds and bracing his ankle. But Bruce was the one kidnapped and the Joker snatching him up had been front page news since it happened. That meant calling the police and going to the hospital.

The next few hours were an exhausting blur. Bruce told Alfred everything that happened. Well, almost. He left out the last time he saw the Joker. That moment in the bedroom was hovering in his head, leaving him unsettled. If he thought about it for too long, he could feel his hands pressing against Joker’s neck, could hear the way he had whispered “Oh, Bruce” in the gentle lighting. No, he didn’t want to talk about that.

But Alfred was disturbed by the information Joker knew his identity.

“There’s no telling what he will do with this information. Nothing good.” He mulled as Bruce got ready to call the police.

“I thought he would keep me there. I have no idea where his bases are. The first one was an empty house outside Gotham. But the second base was definitely underground.” Bruce said.

“I believe the Joker will use this to sew chaos. He likes toying with Batman. Now that he knows your true identity, he will add that to his game.”

The thought unsettled Bruce. He was at a serious disadvantage, there was no way around that.

“Your plan would have worked,” He said to Alfred, “The hologram and putting the audio together. It was a good idea.”

“It was the best I could do. I spun some story to Gordon about wanting a safe distance between the Joker – the hologram would be a distraction and then the police would swoop in to arrest him. I hadn’t banked on Joker pulling back so quickly. That meant the hologram stood there and looked strange. I only wish it had worked as I originally planned,” Alfred looked perturbed, “I cannot help but feel as though it was my fault Joker managed to figure out your identity. If I had come up with a simpler lie – maybe telling Gordon you were ill…”

Bruce put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “No. Don’t blame yourself for that. It was just a stroke of bad luck. Moonlight at the wrong time. Telling Gordon I was sick, well, he wouldn’t have believed that.”

“He has to wonder why you never actually showed up at the exchange. I haven’t been in communication with him since that night.”

“I left you to shoulder a task you never signed up for. I shouldn’t have gone to the monorail. I just thought…”

He struggled to find words to explain what he was thinking. Alfred cleared his throat gently, “Master Wayne, I can’t help but have noticed how heavily the night of the subway weighs on you. Perhaps, even unknowingly, you craved a night of normalcy.”

He did not want to talk about the subway. “I should call the police and let them know I got back.”

Alfred did not push the conversation.

*

By the time Bruce got home that night, it was past midnight. There had been police to deal with: statements to be taken from him, a press conference to let Gotham know he had been returned safely. He was taken to the hospital, given pain medication and had his ankle wrapped. He had seen Gordon but the commissioner had little interest in Bruce Wayne outside of expressing relief that he was alright.

Sinking into his own bed that night, Bruce allowed himself to relax. There had been many moments that he didn’t think he would be back here. But he was. Joker had let him go. For what purpose? _Don’t think about that now,_ he thought, _just go to sleep._

And he did fall asleep. He dreamt. In his dream, he was running down the subway tunnel. Joker was at the end, waiting. Behind him loomed Arkham. Bruce reached out. Joker fell to his knees, handcuffs dangling off his thin wrists, face tilted back to look at him.

“Hit me.” Joker demanded in the dream in a calm, patient voice. “I want you to break my nose again.”

Bruce shook his head, took a step backwards. The dream shifted. He was in the underground bedroom. Joker was on the bed, on his knees. His nose was broken and blood rolled down his neck, dripping off his chin. He held out his hands to Bruce.

“Oh, Bruce. You know what you want to do.” Joker said. “Just do it already.”

He jolted awake.

*

Bruce didn’t allow himself any time off from Wayne Corp. He went there the next day, going against Alfred’s wishes. The idea of lying in bed resting…he would go crazy. All he would do is think about what Joker was planning and the danger he was in. No, it was easier to go to work.

Even so, he went in through the back, taking his private elevator to his office. As much as he wanted to make sure things were running smoothly, he also didn’t want to be swarmed by people asking questions or trying to figure out why Joker had just let him go.

Stepping quietly into his office through the side door, Bruce hovered in the doorway for a moment. It was somehow strange being back. The air felt different. He couldn’t explain why. Tentatively, Bruce shut the door and walked over to his desk, sitting down. Clicking on his computer and logging in, he accessed the e-mail server and was instantly overwhelmed. The sheer volume of e-mails…his head started to ache. Maybe Alfred had been right and he should have stayed home longer.

He lowered his eyes, and something caught his attention. Something familiar poking out of a folder. Curiously, Bruce opened it. A sense of dread grew in his chest. He stared down at a playing card. A Joker card.

Bruce recoiled, pushing the folder away from him. The Joker card fell to his feet. He stared at it dizzily. How had that gotten in here? When he entered the office, he thought the air felt different but assumed that he had been just feeling off.

Bending down, Bruce picked up the card. There was nothing else on it. Just a plain card. But he knew what it meant.

_I know where you are. I can find you whenever I want. Nothing in your life is off limits to me now,_ the card seemed to threaten.

_You belong to me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you like my work, please consider taking a look at my patreon! you can get early access to my projects as well as blog posts about my works: https://www.patreon.com/lylabanks


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone! i have recently opened up a patreon! If you are enjoying my work and would like to give me a little support, you can pop by and check it out. I offer blog posts about my current works as well as early access to chapters, including this fic. The link is below:  
> https://www.patreon.com/lylabanks
> 
> You can also find me on twitter:  
> https://twitter.com/ryohazuki__
> 
> And tumblr:  
> https://hologramhoneymoon.tumblr.com/
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!

“Thanks for the help, Batman.” The young police officer said to Bruce over a clap of thunder.

Bruce nodded, watching as the cops finished handcuffing the gang members he had helped them bust. Located in downtown Gotham, an upstart gang had been planning on robbing a string of shops. But Bruce had been in the area when the first robbery started. The gang never got to the second.

Being back in the Batman suit made him feel a bit safer. He understood what he needed to do when he was Batman. The rules were clear cut. All he had to do was follow them…and try not to dwell on the subway tunnels and how the rules could crumble to dust at any second. He just needed to try harder. Too many mistakes lately. This was a smaller bust but still important. It made Bruce feel more in control. It had been four days since the Joker card in his office. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

With the gang taken care of, Bruce made his exit. Landing on the nearest rooftop, he looked in the distance. More rain. It snowed last night. The weather lately had been awful. Matched his mood. Gotham twinkled but didn’t fool him. Bruce knew underneath the lights there was the real Gotham – one of grime, violence and cruelty. Since experiencing it outside the bat suit, he was extra aware of it now. He had never felt truly safe since his parents were murdered. But since the subway tunnels and the kidnapping, it was much worse.

It was past midnight already. Soaring over Gotham, he thought he would head back to Wayne Manor and try to sleep. Between the long hours at work and getting back into being Batman, Bruce spent most of the day exhausted. It was like he was running a never-ending marathon.

But something caught his attention. A scream. Looking down, he could see an occurrence going on in one of the alleys below him. A mugging, perhaps. Whatever it was, Bruce changed direction, allowing himself to float downwards to stop the crime. It had begun to rain.

The person being mugged was pressed back against the wall in shadow, screaming wildly. Bruce reached for the mugger, turning them around sharply to face him. They wore a mask, a gun in one hand. It was small with a silencer on it but still just as lethal. 

“Hey, wait a second –” The mugger exclaimed before Bruce cut him off, quickly bringing down his arm to knock the gun out of his hand. It skittered across the ground toward the shadows. Then, Bruce shoved the man against the opposite side of the alley. His body went limp as he fell unconscious.

Bruce turned to face the person against the wall. “You’re safe now.”

“My hero.” Crooned a familiar voice.

Out of the shadows, conjured up like a nightmare, stepped the Joker. He wore dress slacks, formal shoes and a thin white button up shirt that was sticking to his skin from the rain. His hair was once again messy and the makeup had been applied hurriedly. He still wore a pair of purple gloves.

“What are you doing here?” Bruce demanded – the ground had shifted under his feet at the sight of him. He hadn’t been prepared…

“Well, I live here.” Joker remarked, purposely being obtuse.

The screams hadn’t even sounded like him. Another trick up Joker’s sleeve, something else Bruce didn’t know about him. He disliked how Joker was always surprising him. Most of the criminals in Gotham had a textbook that they seemingly worked from. It made it easier to understand their way of thinking. But not Joker.

The rain mingled with the snow on the ground, melting it around their feet. Joker peered down at the man Bruce had taken for a mugger.

“I just wanted to see you in action. Heard through the grapevine you were in the area.” He said, nudging the man’s body with the tip of his shoe. “Did you kill him? No, I guess you didn’t. Still can’t go through with that, huh?”

Bruce reacted a second too late. He somehow knew what Joker was going to do and still was not fast enough. The small gun with the silencer popped out of the pocket of his slacks and Joker shot the man in the head just as Bruce slammed against his body, sending him flying against the wall. He landed hard against it, sliding down, the gun landing in a puddle.

The man’s blood began to ooze across the ground of the alley. Suddenly furious, Bruce picked Joker up off the ground, pinning him against the wall.

But the Joker just grinned in that macabre way of his that Bruce so loathed. “Batsy, are you going to go through with it this time?”

Bruce’s chest was tight, the panic overwhelming him. The gunshot seemed to bounce off the walls of the alleyway and the fear was a metallic taste in his mouth. Too many memories combining. His fingers were curled against Joker’s thin dress shirt. The rain came down in heavy sheets now and it struck him just how frail Joker was. It would be easy to kill him, this pale slender man with tender flesh exposed through the wet shirt clinging to his skin. Would be like killing a bird.

But unlike the subway tunnel where the rage and loss of control blinded him, Bruce only felt sick. At himself, at the Joker, at the fact he hadn’t moved fast enough to stop him from killing that man.

“Batsy, if it helps, I mean, that was a _bad man_ I just killed. He was a drug dealer! Sure, I set up the mugging but that was just to see you in action! I wanted to see you as Batman…now that I know the truth.”

The anger gone now, Bruce released his grip, letting the Joker topple to the ground once more. He stood up, making a show of brushing dirt off his knees. Bruce noted that he was shivering a little from the cold rain. His hair was soaked, some green strands sticking to his forehead, and his makeup was running a little. The white stuff he covered his face with wasn’t some high-quality makeup. Bruce could see some of his real pale skin exposed through the white.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Bruce said, “I’m calling the cops to get you to Arkham.”

Joker snorted. “Now, you’re the one making jokes, Bats.”

“It would be easier to knock you out than it was the mugger.”

Joker’s expression shifted. His eyes narrowed. “Bats, I said I didn’t want to tell anyone who you were. But don’t get it mixed up. I will if you believe we are still on the same footing we were before.”

“No one would believe you.” Bruce remarked, getting ready to notify Gotham PD.

Joker took a step towards him. “The fact you think I am stupid enough not to have recorded our entire dinner conversation hurts my feelings, Batsy. All I’d have to do is leak the tape. It would end the fun a lot sooner than I wanted. But to put you in your place, I would.”

Bruce froze. He could be lying. But the fact the Joker had set up the dinner, with the flowers, the meal, cleaning Bruce up. He remembered the mantle in the room, the clock shoved on top of it. Of course there had been a camera there…it made sense that it would somehow be recorded. Just another sign of how he was slipping. It hadn’t even crossed his mind.

“I understand you’re emotional because I killed this rapist,” Joker went on, already changing the story, “But we’re playing by my rules, Bats. You understand? I know you got the card I put in your office. I can go anywhere you can. I can change your life at any time if I leak the tape. I can kill anyone I want, do anything I want and until you decide your identity is worth less than getting me to Arkham, I have all the control.”

He was close to Bruce now. Bruce was grateful for the protection of the bat suit. Like armor, it gave him protection from the Joker, made him feel a little better about being so close to him. It was less personal.

“One hour. The clock tower.” Joker declared.

He turned around, setting off down the alleyway. Even though he was soaked through and shaking from the cold, Joker seemed unbothered by it. He looked over his shoulder back at Bruce.

“And lose the suit. Makes you look so bulky and hulking.” He shuddered playfully.

He rounded the corner, leaning heavily on his good leg, leaving Bruce alone in the pouring rain.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you like my work, please consider taking a look at my patreon! you can get early access to my projects as well as blog posts about my works: https://www.patreon.com/lylabanks

The clock tower had been abandoned for a long time which made it a popular spot for criminals. But if there had been any tonight, Joker must have cleared them out. When Bruce arrived, the place was desolate.

He shifted uncomfortably, remembering his conversation with Alfred. After the incident in the alleyway, Bruce hurried back to Wayne Manor. Alfred was still awake, leaving Bruce no choice but to explain the fake mugging, Joker killing the man, and the reveal of the fact he had recorded their dinner.

“Master Wayne, until you get that tape, we have very little room to maneuver against the Joker.” Alfred said, perturbed.

“He would make copies. I wouldn’t put it past him to have it set up as a contingency plan. If I put him in Arkham, if I injure him, he would release the tape. Even if I find one, there is no way of knowing if he has more.” Bruce said as he stared at his closet. “I have no power against him. He killed that man right in front of me. I was too slow…” He trailed off, remembering the other man Joker killed in the van, his brains splattering against the plexiglass. “Keeping my identity secret is the most important aspect of making Batman work. If people knew it was me, the mystery around Batman would be gone. That mystery fuels the image which in turn acts as a helpful deterrent against crime. I can’t let that go.”

“That would mean, then, that you would have to go along with the Joker until you figure out where the tapes and backups are located.” Alfred’s concern was apparent.

“It would appear so.”

“I don’t think I need to tell you how highly dangerous this is.”

“No, you don’t.” He replied, pulling a jacket out. “Let’s just hope we can find the tape quickly.”

Bruce dragged himself to the present moment, steeling himself to meet up with Joker. Misstep after misstep. When was he going to get his shit together? He exhaled, trying to settle his nerves and then stepped inside the clock tower.

The clock tower was located in a park in a run-down section of Gotham. It had begun to snow, mingling with the light rain. Bruce brushed the snow off his jacket and tilted his face to look upwards. Somehow, he knew the Joker would be at the very top. Best to start walking.

The staircase was wooden, creaking under every step. He prepared himself for a step to give out and send him toppling. At least he was going high up. Bruce could handle heights.

He reached the top and saw Joker instantly. His back was facing Bruce with his walking cane propped up against the wall. He leaned against the frame of what once housed the clock. But the actual clock face was long gone, leaving a dangerous open hole. He hadn’t changed clothes. The shirt was still wet. Bruce could just make out the curve of his shoulder blades through the dress shirt. For some reason, he thought of broken wings.

Bruce walked towards Joker, who looked over his shoulder when he heard the steps. Bruce didn’t believe for a second that Joker was only aware now that he was here. The stairs had creaked loudly and endlessly.

“Why did you ask me to come here?” Bruce spoke first.

“Have you ever been to this part of Gotham?” Joker asked, oddly serious.

“Once or twice.”

“Passing through in your limo?”

Bruce didn’t take the bait. If Joker wanted to get a rise out of him that way, it wasn’t going to work. He had heard all sorts of insults against him in that vein and they bounced off. Instead, he looked over at Joker.

“How many people have you killed in this part of Gotham?”

A ghost of a smile crossed Joker’s face. Bruce studied the curve of his jaw, his sharp cheekbones, the makeup piled onto his face, the gaps in the makeup from the rain that revealed glimpses of his actual skin. The bandage on his face was still evident, freshly changed.

Joker abruptly turned to face Bruce. Being this close startled him. His chest constricted.

“How does it feel to once be Batman and now only be Mr. Wayne?” He asked. “That loss of power, your protection, stripped away. A series of vastly unfortunate events has led to this. One bad night and your precious house of cards has come tumbling down. Do you think about that?” His voice was low, almost a growl.

“Do you think this means you will have free reign over Gotham? That I won’t be there to stop whatever you’re planning? Tape or not, I won’t let you run wild.” Bruce countered.

“Always deflecting with you.” Joker said, his voice raising back up.

Bruce thought that was rich coming from the clown prince of crime. Every word out of his mouth was a lie. Joker stepped in front of him, dangerously close to the edge of the tower. He ran his gloved fingers through his hair and droplets of rainwater fell off the green strands. He looked frustrated.

“You know what pisses me off about you, Bats? The fact you pretend the subway didn’t happen. I thought whenever we ran into each other again, you would be different. Understand that what occurred was transformative! But instead, you still think you’re somehow better than me. You don’t see that we are two sides of the same coin.”

“In no way are we two sides of the same coin.”

Joker leaned forward, his face extremely close to Bruce’s. His heart stopped. He wanted to pull away. He wanted to…

“When you beat the shit out of me, what did it feel like?”

Bruce didn’t want to think or talk about this. He wished he would stop bringing it up. But Joker somehow sensed that what Bruce did disturbed him to no end.

_Bruce let go of Joker, watched him hit the ground of the subway tunnel. He looked down at the small lump of his body. Reality seemed to hit him then as he realized the full extent of what he did. He had killed Joker. Broken his own cardinal rule. No better than a criminal._

_Terrified, he bent down and scooped Joker up. He weighed nothing in his arms, like a bird with broken wings. His head rolled back, exposing the soft skin of his neck. It looked as if it was already bruising. Bruce needed to get out of here immediately. Carrying the Joker’s body, he took off down the tunnel…_

“Ah, thinking about it?” Joker whispered, drawing Bruce out of the memory. “I had bruises around my neck for weeks. Could barely talk. You killed me. But then you saved me too.”

_Bruce had gotten lucky, found an exit that wasn’t blocked. He spilled out into a side street, hearing nothing but sirens all over the city. Bruce stumbled with the Joker’s body into the nearest alleyway. He lost his footing and fell to his knees, placing Joker on the ground. He wasn’t breathing. Disoriented, Bruce began to pump on Joker’s chest. Another rib cracked. Pressing down too hard. Jesus. Jesus, what had he done? He remembered his electrical charge in his utility belt. Desperately, he grabbed it, turned it on. It flickered to life. No other options. He pressed it against the Joker’s exposed neck…_

“Because that’s what you do, isn’t it? Save people. Sure, you might beat the shit out of them, send them to the hospital but you still _save them_. Bad or good.”

That was when Joker flung himself backwards directly off the clock tower.


	13. Chapter 13

This time Bruce wasn’t too slow. He grabbed ahold of Joker before he fell out of his reach. One arm circled around his waist, the other grabbed his wrist. He managed to yank Joker back into the clock tower. Together, they stumbled, entwined, before Bruce toppled backwards. Joker landed on top of him.

The wind was knocked out of Bruce when he landed on the ground. Joker’s head was bowed, his legs on either side of Bruce, almost straddling him. It took a minute for Bruce to get his bearings.

Joker’s body was pressed against him, with his face close to his neck. Bruce realized his hands were placed on Joker’s hips. His throat went dry, heart pounding.

That was when Joker spoke, in a hoarse whisper that trailed up Bruce’s spine. “If you had let me die, all your problems would be solved,” With each word he uttered, his lips grazed Bruce’s neck. His scalp tingled, every nerve alight. “Yet you still save me every time.”

Joker was light as a feather on top of him. He pushed himself away from Bruce’s neck, still straddling him. His lipstick had smeared from touching Bruce’s skin, and some of it was on his cheek, touching the bandage on his face. His dress shirt had dried a little but Bruce could still make out that pale skin underneath, his collarbone poking out of the top, the delicate curve of his neck.

Joker pressed his gloved hands against Bruce’s chest. It was difficult to think. It was as if his brain was glitching. He was right, of course. Killing Joker or letting him die would solve his problems in regards to his identity. Even so, Bruce still couldn’t do such a thing. Joker was an awful person, but he deserved to be locked away and judged by the system. It wasn’t up to Bruce to eliminate him.

The past three years, every encounter with the Joker had been nothing but brutal violence. Bruce was not used to talking to him and was not used to having his body on top of him. There was something too personal about it…

_Joker let out a strangled gasp, his back arching as the electrical shock rolled through him. He rolled onto his side, coughing furiously, grabbing at his throat. Relief struck Bruce so hard that for a second, he couldn’t breathe. Joker was alive. He hadn’t killed him._

_Anguished, Bruce reached for him. Joker jerked away, wide eyed and alarmed, eyes darting around, trying to take in the situation._

_Throat hoarse, he said, “Bats, what did you do?” Eyes glassy, stumbling to his feet, swaying. Bruce thought he was going to collapse for a second but Joker maintained his footing._

_Bruce got to his feet. Reached out for Joker. Needed to touch him to make sure he was real, that he hadn’t died. His hands brushed the sleeve of Joker’s jacket and he looked down at Bruce’s hand. Confusion swept across his features._

_Then Joker stumbled forward. Bruce caught him. Joker tilted his face back to look upwards. Even in the bat suit, Bruce suddenly felt exposed. Joker’s eyes were hazy, like storm clouds at sea. His gloved fingers reached up, almost touched his mask before he slumped forward._

_“Bats,” He mumbled as the sirens grew louder, “You…”_

“You killed me. You saved me.” Joker in the present day was looking down at Bruce. “Two sides of the same coin. That’s what we do to each other. We give and we take. No one else can deliver that to us.” He was serious again. Bruce was so used to him cackling, making horrible jokes, that seeing him be personal was alarming.

Joker went on quietly, “And now, I know who you are. _I see you._ Who else can say that?”

Bruce couldn’t tear his eyes away from him; he couldn’t tell Joker to get off. He was rendered immobile by their position, the feeling of Joker straddling him, the memory of the night he killed him – all of it made his chest so tight he could barely breathe. _So much for staying in control of the situation,_ he thought, annoyed with himself.

“We have to be on even ground. To make this work.” His voice was that strange lilting melodic noise from the other night when he put Bruce’s hands around his neck. Bruce was entranced. His slender figure atop of him, that voice that rose and fell like the tide, the way his hair curled against the nape of his neck, the gloves that he seemingly always wore…

The sudden movement was jarring. One second, Joker was on top of Bruce, talking in that odd way. The next second, the knife slipped out of his pants pocket and was brought forcefully down into Bruce’s stomach.

The pain was searing. Bruce groaned loudly, knocking Joker off him, rolling onto his side. He grabbed his stomach, looking down. The blood seeped through his shirt and onto his hand. _He stabbed me,_ he thought dizzily, _he fucking stabbed me._

Joker leaned over Bruce, looking down at him concerned. “That looks pretty deep, Bats. If you don’t get medical attention, it could kill you.”

“What did you do?” Bruce said through gritted teeth, the pain washing over him, a cold sweat breaking out across his skin.

“Well, I stabbed you.”

“Why?!” He shouted.

“You killed me,” Joker replied impatiently, “This is how it has to be, Bats. Weren’t you listening to me?”

He needed to get out of here. Get help. What help? He was trapped on the top of the clock tower with a sociopathic killer. The blood pooled underneath him. Was that really it? All the work he put into being Batman only to be killed by the Joker, bleeding to death in a clock tower.

His vision started darkening. Spots danced around the edge of his eyes. Joker peered down at him. Said something. Bruce couldn’t make it out. Blackness swept in, took him away with it and then there was silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are enjoying my work and would like to give me a little support, you can pop by and check out my patreon. I offer blog posts about my current works as well as early access to chapters, including this fic. The link is below:  
> https://www.patreon.com/lylabanks
> 
> You can also find me on twitter:  
> https://twitter.com/ryohazuki__
> 
> And tumblr:  
> https://hologramhoneymoon.tumblr.com/
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are enjoying my work and would like to give me a little support, you can pop by and check out my patreon. I offer blog posts about my current works as well as early access to chapters, including this fic. The link is below:  
> https://www.patreon.com/lylabanks
> 
> You can also find me on twitter:  
> https://twitter.com/ryohazuki__
> 
> And tumblr:  
> https://hologramhoneymoon.tumblr.com/
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!

_“You killed me.” Joker groaned against Bruce._

_“You need medical attention.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized how mental it was. He had taken things too far; he was lucky Joker was alive. But what was he going to do? Just take him to a hospital?_

_“You’re no better than I am,” He whispered in a voice that sounded like jagged glass, “I hope you never forget it.”_

Bruce’s eyes flickered open. Disoriented, for a split second he thought he was back to the night of the subway tunnel. Joker’s body would be at his feet. Out of time to save him. But the painful throbbing in his lower abdomen brought back disjointed memories. Joker trying to throw himself off the clock tower. Joker on top of him. The knife in his stomach.

Once again, he thought, _I should be dead by now._

With a groan, Bruce tried to sit up. He had no idea where he was. How sick was he of waking up in strange places. To his relief, he wasn’t underground. To his right was a window that showed the snow falling out of the sky. The moon was blocked by heavy clouds.

He looked down. His shirt was sticking to the wound. Carefully, Bruce peeled it off and raised his shirt up. There was a thick bandage over the wound. He touched it gingerly with his fingers and could feel stitches underneath.

_You killed me. You saved me._

This was Joker’s idea of being on equal footing.

_I see you. Who else can say that?_

He shivered. Managed to get off the bed although when he stood up, his vision swirled. Bruce regained his footing and looked around the room. It was a small bedroom. A few toys were tossed around. Did someone live here? Where were they?

_We have to be on even ground. To make this work._

Bruce pushed the bedroom door open and ended up in the living room. A TV was on, running an old sitcom. He padded out towards the couch. Was he here alone?

The other bedroom door suddenly swung open and the Joker waltzed out, still with a walking cane. Alarmed, Bruce prepared for an attack, grabbing a lamp off the nearest table.

Joker took one look at him and laughed. “And what are you going to do with that?”

“Don’t come near me.” Bruce warned.

“You know, Bats, you’re not nearly as scary outside the suit.” Joker spoke casually, although Bruce noticed he was leaning a little hard on his walking cane. The injury he sustained in that van crash seemed to be lingering a lot longer than he originally thought it would.

Bruce raised the lamp but pain laced up his side. Groaning, he lowered it and Joker clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

“What are you doing, stupid?” He laughed, “You’re injured!”

“Because of you.” Bruce replied gruffly.

“You’re fine now. I saved you.” Joker plopped down on the couch and stretched out his long legs, resting them on the coffee table.

_We have to be on even ground. To make this work._

Bruce stood there, still holding the lamp. Joker tilted his head back lazily to look at him. “Are you going to just keep standing there like some sort of politician who got caught fucking the babysitter?”

He realized that he was in no position to attack the Joker. Not only was he now wounded, but Joker still had the recording of their dinner. He put the lamp back and carefully sat next to him on the couch. The couch was small, leaving Bruce unable to put any space between them.

“Where did you learn to patch people up?” He asked.

Joker glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “I used to work on a fishing boat. Accidents happened all the time.” The TV flickered colour over his pale face, his skin soaking it up.

Bruce inwardly snorted at the lie but didn’t press it. As far as he knew, Joker might believe every single thing that popped out of his mouth, silly sounding or not. The pain was a dull steady throb that made waves across his body. It was difficult to think. He let the fishing boat thing go.

The noise of the TV was just low enough to make it hard to hear. Joker didn’t seem to care.

“Shouldn’t you be out plotting?” Bruce asked.

“Those things aren’t interesting to me right now.”

Bruce read in between the lines. No reason to be killing or maiming when he could play mind games with Batman directly. At least that gave Gotham a reprieve.

“Shouldn’t you be out monologuing to a gang member about being a good person?” Joker countered. “Although I guess that’s hard to do now. After what you did.”

He shifted then, turning slightly to face Bruce. He tensed, waiting for some sort of attack.

“I have to admit, Bats, I was pretty angry about what you did to me. To think the one time Batman breaks his rule and it’s on _me_! I mean, what did I do to deserve that?”

“You derailed every subway train in Gotham. You killed hundreds of people. Injured hundreds more. The city has yet to recover from it. The subways still aren’t open. Then, you vanished for six months, leaving the city rendered immobile by fear wondering when you were going to return and how you would return. And that’s just one single night.” 

“Is that your justification for _murder_?” Joker sounded affronted.

“No.” Bruce was uncomfortable.

“Let me check your wound.”

“No.” He repeated.

Joker rolled his eyes. “Don’t be like that, Bats. You understand that I had to stab you. I had to bring you back. It was an exchange! Like what you did to me. Now, if you don’t let me check your wound, it might get infected. Do you want to die from a simple infection? The great Batman undone from some festering wound?”

Bruce relented, too tired to argue. He nodded, leaning back a little to give Joker better access. He was thinking about what Joker said about the justification of murder. His knee jerk reaction was to defend himself. He had lost control. He had managed to jolt Joker’s heart back. No murder occurred. Joker might have legally been dead for a couple of seconds but…he brought him back. That wasn’t murder.

But Bruce knew those were all excuses. When he had lost control, rage fueled him. He had been running around in the tunnels, seeing nothing but death and destruction. Bodies littered the tunnel. Joker laughing as if it didn’t matter. When his hands wrapped around Joker’s throat, he intended to kill.

The loss of control haunted him. The guilt ate away at him. Joker could sense that, would use it to his advantage. And Bruce let him.

Joker’s gloved fingers reached for the edge of his shirt and rolled it up to expose the wound. It was strange being so vulnerable around him. If two weeks ago, someone told him that Joker would have stabbed him, stitched back up and then asked to look at the wound, he would have assumed Scarecrow had injected the person with something.

A lock of hair fell in front of Joker’s face. He blew on it to get it out of the way, but it fell back. Annoyed, he did it again, but the result was the same.

Without thinking, Bruce reached over and brushed the lock of hair into place behind his ear. His fingers brushed against the side of his cheek. Joker’s skin was cold. The coldness seemed to hit Bruce, make him realize what he just did. His hand quickly dropped to his side. Jesus, what had he just done? What the hell was wrong with him?

Even Joker seemed to be slightly taken aback by the gesture. His fingers hovered over Bruce’s wound, face unreadable. Bruce was so embarrassed that he didn’t know what to do or say to break the moment. What had driven him to do that? He wanted to crawl in a hole and die.

Joker cleared his throat softly and then touched the wound. Carefully, he began to peel back the bandage.

“How long was I out?” Bruce asked.

“About six hours.”

_“Six hours_? What time is it?”

Joker glanced over to the kitchen. “Close to four in the morning. Why, somewhere to be?”

No, nowhere to be. But he hadn’t let Alfred know he was okay, and he was bound to be concerned. Meeting the Joker outside of being Batman, defenseless, no communication…

A sharp pain caught his attention and he looked down. The bandage was peeled away, seeped with blood. The wound had been hastily stitched. It was no master stitching, but it got the job done. He tried to picture Joker stitching him up, but his mind couldn’t conjure up such an image.

“You’ll be fine.” Joker declared.

“Is that your diagnosis?” Bruce would be immediately having Alfred take a look at it.

“We have to change the bandaging though. Get up.” Joker stood up, grabbing his cane.

Grimacing, Bruce followed, holding his side. The pain was extremely intense. Joker leaned against his cane as they walked across the living room.

“Your leg got hurt badly in the crash,” Bruce pointed out. “Seems to be getting worse.”

“Your concern is touching, Batsy.” Joker replied, sarcasm dripping off every word.

“Where are we, anyway? This one of your safe houses?”

He stopped in front of the bathroom, flicking on the light, “The dinner tape isn’t here.”

Bruce has hoped he sounded casual, but Joker was more observant than he looked. Bruce peered into the bathroom before hobbling over to sit on the edge of the tub. Joker opened the medicine cabinet, tossing empty bottles over his shoulders to have them clatter on the floor.

“I know I left them in here…” He was mumbling before finding the bandages and antiseptic.

He then crouched in front of Bruce. The light in the bathroom was harsh and in it, Bruce could see the dark circles barely hidden by the white face paint under Joker’s eyes. His lipstick had not been reapplied. As a result, it had faded a bit and Bruce could just make out the actual skin tone of his lips for once.

Joker’s eyes flicked up to his face. Bruce felt caught but didn’t break the stare, afraid of looking skittish.

“Lean back a bit.” He commanded.

Bruce did so. Joker got the antiseptic, soaking a cloth in it and then tugged up his shirt. Without warning, he then pressed it against the wound.

Bruce flinched, cursing loudly. “A warning would be good!” He snapped.

“Oops.” Joker said demurely, but he didn’t believe it for a second.

Exhaling through the pain, clutching the edge of the tub, Bruce closed his eyes. Joker dabbed at the wound, cleaning it before putting the new bandage on it. His fingertips touched Bruce’s skin and it felt as if every nerve was alight. Opening his eyes, he looked down. Joker was positioning the bandage carefully over the wound. The tip of his tongue poked out in between his teeth, clearly focusing. Bruce studied his face. Those white teeth that had lipstick rubbed on them. The bridge of his nose. His furrowed brow. He decided to close his eyes again.

When he was finished, Joker took a minute to admire his work and then stood up. He held out his hand to offer Bruce support. But he didn’t want to risk Joker pushing him into the tub or something for a laugh. He managed to stand on his own.

“I’m leaving now.” He told Joker.

“Already, Bats? But the party is just getting started!”

Bruce pushed past him, knocking Joker away by the shoulder. All he wanted was to get home, have Alfred look at him and go to bed. He got the sense Joker expected him to stay. That was the last thing he wanted to do.

_I see you. Who else can say that?_

Without looking back, Bruce opened the door, leaving Joker alone in an apartment that belonged to no one, the stab wound throbbing painfully and his head overwhelmed with another night where he had been at Joker’s mercy.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are enjoying my work and would like to give me a little support, you can pop by and check out my patreon. I offer blog posts about my current works as well as early access to chapters, including this fic. The link is below:  
> https://www.patreon.com/lylabanks
> 
> You can also find me on twitter:  
> https://twitter.com/ryohazuki__
> 
> And tumblr:  
> https://hologramhoneymoon.tumblr.com/
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!

The last thing in the world Bruce wanted to do was attend the Gotham Botanical Gardens Charity Ball.

Alfred also hadn’t wanted him to go. It had been a week since the stabbing – and since seeing Joker – and Bruce was still sore and healing. Having done a couple of patrols as Batman, he didn’t feel as if it were enough to keep Gotham safe but being wounded was slowing him down.

However, to miss the event would be sending a signal to Gotham: Joker could make Bruce Wayne cower. Enough fear and even he would go into hiding. He couldn’t afford to send that message. The monorail hijacking and kidnapping had sent shockwaves of terror through Gotham. Bruce knew what he represented to the city. He tried to help Gotham as Bruce as much as he could, funneling money into projects to revamp areas that needed it, to fund programs to help people of all kinds, whatever he could do as Bruce that he couldn’t as Batman.

To be kidnapped by the Joker showed that even Bruce Wayne, who had survived the murder of his parents, could be touched again by crime. It told people that even if you survived one horrible encounter, another one could be just around the corner to haunt you.

So, even though the last thing Bruce felt like doing was attending, and the last thing he felt was normal, he still was going to go. He had agreed to three months ago and dropping out at the last second would do nothing to calm anyone down.

He was reminding himself of this as he entered the center building located in the midst of the gardens. The entire place had been transformed. Flowers and plants were everywhere; if Poison Ivy wasn’t currently locked up in Arkham, Bruce would be concerned about her appearing tonight. There was a fountain in the middle of the room of a mermaid, water spilling out from around her. Soft music played from a live band further away. The moon was out tonight, shining through the glass roof. For once, there was no snow or rain.

Bruce made his greetings as he navigated past the fountain. The room got larger here. A dance floor was in the middle of the space with a small stage where the band performed. It was a stuffy affair, very formal. But at least he wasn’t in the air like the monorail or underground. Alfred was on standby in case Joker or anyone else showed up. The bat mobile would come here in seconds, Bruce had mapped out multiple escape routes in case he needed to reappear as Batman. He was in control tonight. No matter what.

There was a staircase leading up to the second floor. It had a balcony where people could drink and look down at the dance floor. The place was crowded but there was a wariness in the air. People were afraid. Large gatherings meant a target. He hoped the sight of Bruce Wayne at the party would help somewhat.

It didn’t take long to be swept up in conversations. Bruce underestimated how draining it was going to be to deal with questions posed as concern about the kidnapping. The people patting him on the shoulder, telling him to stay strong…the ones who asked detailed questions about what the Joker was like, what he had done to Bruce. Someone even brought up his parents murder in connection to the kidnapping.

After an hour, Bruce’s chest was tight and he felt tired. Refusing to drink because he wanted to make sure he was ready for anything, he found himself gazing at a champagne flute. Someone was in his ear, asking if it was true the Joker bathed in blood or was that just a rumor.

Bruce judged the situation wrong. Gotham was afraid but people’s curiosity was a very real and alive thing. Despite people’s best intentions to be respectful, the gory details of someone’s trauma always seemed to entice them.

He was debating going upstairs to the balcony for some space when Vicki Vale cornered him. He hadn’t seen her since the night of the monorail and did not want to be grilled by her. However, Bruce was standing in the corner and had no quick exit.

“Mr. Wayne. My assistant has been trying to set up a one on one interview with you.” Vicki said by way of greeting.

“Have they? I hope you understand I haven’t been engaging with the press outside the initial press conference.”

She drummed her long fingernails against her iPad. “Yes, yes. What about now, can I ask you a few questions?”

“If you would like to discuss the gardens and the importance of them to Gotham, we can.” He forced an easy smile.

“I’d rather discuss your kidnapping and the fact the Joker seemingly let you go unharmed. There are some questions and concerns about that the people of Gotham have.”

Vicki didn’t miss a thing. That was what made her a great reporter. Bruce liked it better when he wasn’t in her crosshairs, however. He was about to launch into a speech that would turn the conversation back to the gardens when someone interrupted.

“Surely, there is a time and place for such things.” The voice had a slight European accent to it Bruce couldn’t place as a man stepped up.

“And you are?” Vicki asked.

The man was tall, slender, wearing a refined old-style jacket and dress pants. He looked faintly as though he stepped out of the 1940s. Bruce had never seen him before.

“Count Vronsky. Here for the winter.”

The name twinged something in Bruce’s head. He took a better look at the man. Slender frame, hair jet black, skin pale…

Vicki looked disinterested. “I was talking to Mr. Wayne-”

“Oh, I think you’ve kept him long enough, don’t you? Besides, this is a party! Time enough later for more serious questions!” The man smiled then, exposing crooked front teeth and with a jolt that felt like a sucker punch to his chest, Bruce realized who it was. His eyes fell on the cane in the man’s other hand - a dead giveaway.

A large brutish man whose name Bruce couldn’t remember jostled through the crowd towards him. “Mr. Wayne?”

For the life of him, Bruce couldn’t place a name to his face. He plastered on another fake smile although being next to the Joker was giving him heart palpations. He didn’t dare risk another glance at him.

“Good evening.”

“My wife couldn’t make it tonight, but she just wanted to say how sorry she was about that madman kidnapping you.”

Bruce tensed, aware that the same madman was standing right next to him. “Oh, well, tell her…”

“What is the world coming to?” The Joker said, leaning forward on his cane, “I mean, to kidnap Bruce Wayne of all people! It’s utter madness.”

The large man glanced at Joker, clearly wanting not to be interrupted and kept going. “It must have been so scary. Anything could have happened to you. Did he hurt you? Did he injure you?”

“Ah, well, minor-”

“You know, usually people like that come from the parenting,” Joker went on, although Bruce didn’t think for a second he didn’t know what he was doing. “The fault lies in the upbringing.”

“Absolutely,” The man agreed. Vicki, giving up on cornering Bruce for questions, excused herself and left. Bruce was relieved. If anyone would figure out Joker wasn’t who he was pretending to be, it would be her. “Although I can’t imagine that monster having parents.”

Joker clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth in disgust. “Probably horrible things.”

“Someone like that…well, they deserve the worst punishment possible. And to kidnap you, Mr. Wayne! Someone who does so much for the city. My wife was befit. If something could happen to you, well, it could happen to anyone of us. That horrible creature running around the city, killing and murdering – well, it’s a real shame he’s still alive. If the police could do us all a favor, it should be shoot to kill as soon as they see that beast. With his makeup and _lipstick,_ it’s disgusting. And it’s wrong.”

“The killing and murdering or the lipstick?” Joker asked without inflection.

“What?”

“Which part is wrong? The killing or murdering, which I think is the same thing actually, or the lipstick?” Joker said patiently.

Bruce sensed danger. Time to steer Joker away from the conversation. “Will you please excuse me and Count Vronsky for a moment? Thank you so much for your kind words.”

“The murdering and the lipstick are both wrong. Disgusting. You know, it doesn’t surprise me he’s one of _those_ types of people. You know what I mean?”

“Oh, I know _exactly_ what you mean.” Joker replied, his voice almost a growl.

“Nice talking to you.” Bruce said quickly, grabbing Joker by the arm and gently tugging him away from the man whose name he could not remember.

The man opened his mouth to reply but it was swallowed by the music. Bruce, already getting a nice solid start to a headache, cut through the crowd with the Joker, up the stairs to the balcony area, finding a secluded spot for the two of them to talk.

It was just his luck that this sort of thing would happen. Bruce had thought he was ready for any sort of danger to unfold tonight.

He just didn’t think the Joker was going to pop up in disguise.


	16. Chapter 16

“Geez, Bats, are you done dragging me around? Not that I’m complaining…” Joker said.

Bruce whirled around to finally face him. It was absolutely surreal seeing Joker not looking like…well, the Joker. The makeup was gone, leaving him bare faced. His skin was naturally pale, with dark circles under his eyes, which looked clear and bright. He was in a good mood. Never a positive sign. Was any mood of Joker’s a great sign though?

The cut on his cheek from the crash had healed, a tiny faint scar evident. His suit fit him perfectly although Bruce wasn’t sure if the old school style of it was on purpose or what Joker thought people wore to these events. His hair had been dyed black, slicked back although one strand fell out of his place against his forehead. Bruce fought back the memory of pushing the hair back behind his ear before.

The walking cane had been swapped out for a plain black one with a tiny silver knob on top. The gloves were no longer purple, just a regular black leather. _Still wears gloves,_ Bruce noted.

“How did you figure it out?” Joker asked gleefully, his fake accent dropped.

“Count Vronsky? From _Anna Karenina_? Not exactly subtle.” Bruce whispered.

Joker scoffed. “You think any of these rich idiots know what that is?”

He was speaking a bit too loudly for Bruce’s liking. Paranoid about someone figuring out what was going on, he motioned for Joker to follow him. Then he nudged open the nearest door and slipped inside, Joker coming in after him.

Shutting and locking the door, Bruce looked around. They were in a small library. Every book had to do with plants and an empty oak desk was in the middle of the room. Grand windows overlooked the grounds. The place smelled a bit stuffy. Bruce didn’t imagine people used this room often. Maybe for meetings.

“Why are you here?” He asked, leaning against the oak desk. From here, he could still hear the band from downstairs. It was muffled but grounded him to the location – at the gardens, at a charity ball, with the Joker.

“Just wanted to see what the rich do for fun.” Joker drawled, walking around the room slowly, looking at the spines of the books. His limp was evident tonight. His leg wasn’t healing properly. Bruce couldn’t remember how bad the crash was. But Joker would have taken the brunt of it being in the driver’s seat. “How’s the stab wound?”

“Sore,” He replied curtly. “How’s your leg?”

Joker clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Bats, your concern is touching.” It was the same thing he had said the night at the apartment, the same deflection.

He finished his loop around the room, stopping in front of Bruce. He still was jarred by seeing Joker outside of his usual appearance. Without the makeup, he looked…regular. Normal, even. He leaned against the desk directly next to Bruce, stretching out his long legs.

“So, this is the life of Mr. Wayne. Parties in which everyone attending question how you survived a traumatic event. In the spotlight for your personal life and not your good deeds.”

Bruce didn’t want to admit that the night had been draining. “People are naturally curious.”

“Yes, for details about me. About you. About us.” Joker ran his thumb over the top of his cane. “If I had killed you, you would be their favourite topic of conversation until they got bored.”

“You have a lower opinion of people than me. You don’t see people as humans. You see them as objects to manipulate or kill.” Bruce responded testily.

“Bats, spare me the speech. I could recite it from memory.” Joker said with an eye roll.

“You have no shame over the things you do. Do you even think about what you did in the subway tunnels? The loss of life? The terror you instilled in the monorail hijacking?” Bruce couldn’t stop himself from bringing up ugly topics, it seemed.

Joker tilted his face back slightly. The scent of cinnamon and clean clothes wafted over; it had become a scent that Bruce now associated with him even if he didn’t want to.

“And now,” Bruce went on, “You think you have something over me. Because of the tape. That you can do whatever you want, and nothing is in your way. But you’re wrong Joker. Regardless of my identity or not, I will always be here to stop you.”

“Well, I would hope so. Gotham City would be terribly boring without a giant bat flying around trying to stop me.” He deadpanned, pushing off the desk and standing in front of Bruce. “Are you done lecturing me? I know you can’t help yourself. You simply _must_ bore me to tears.”

He didn’t know what he expected. Of course a lecture outside the bat suit would be as effective as the ones he had given in them. Joker was not the sort of man one debated about moral quandaries. He was a sociopath, a tyrant and a killer.

Joker held out his gloved hand. Bruce stared at it mystified.

“Come on, Bats. It’s a party. Aren’t you going to dance?” His voice was playful. Melodic again.

“No.”

“Oh, you’re no fun. Haven’t you ever wondered what it was like to dance with a lunatic killer?” He was teasing him now.

Bruce stared at him. He wasn’t sure if it was because Joker looked so _real_ tonight or if he was losing his mind due to the recent events. But before he could question it, he reached for Joker’s hand.

Joker instantly pulled him into a formal waltz. The motion surprised Bruce and without thinking he asked, “How do you know how to waltz?”

“My father taught it.” Joker said instantly. A lie, naturally, like the fishermen or the mugger who was actually a drug dealer. “He ran a class.”

Bruce found it difficult to focus. His hands were against the Joker’s. He was grateful for the gloves. It served as some sort of barrier. He moved unsteadily against the Joker’s more confident movements. Up this close, he had no choice but to look directly at him. _He’s taller than me_ , he realized with a jolt. His eyes had to look upwards. He had never realized that before. Maybe because they were always fighting, or some high tense situation was unfolding around them.

Without the piles of makeup on his face, the Joker would have blended in anywhere in Gotham. He looked almost…pretty in a strange way. It was that delicate neck and those sharp cheekbones. Somehow, his cheekbones were more pronounced without the makeup. The dark hair added to his appearance. It made his skin paler, his eyes darker.

“Bats, you’re terrible at this,” Joker remarked. “Is this how you normally dance?”

Bruce had danced many times. All with women. Usually pretending to be the full Bruce Wayne persona. But dancing with the clown prince of crime…it was wrong, and he shouldn’t be doing it. Yet he didn’t stop.

Joker’s hand left Bruce’s and instead went to his waist. Startled, Bruce stopped for a moment and almost lost his footing. He caught himself at the last second. Getting frazzled was unlike him. He was embarrassed.

“I have finally found something the amazing Mr. Wayne is bad at.” Joker announced, his hand resting on his waist, his other hand against Bruce’s.

His side ached from the wound. His headache was a dull throb. But even with the pain, everything was heightened. Being this close to the Joker, that cinnamon and clean clothes scent, dancing…if anyone were to walk in, if anyone knew what was going on in here…

“The night of the monorail,” Bruce said suddenly, “It didn’t go according to plan, did it?”

It was easier to read Joker’s face without the makeup. A flicker of annoyance passed across his features. “What makes you say that?”

“The crash. The decoy van with the other hostages.” They had circled the room already and began to repeat it once more. The dance seemed separate from the muffled music below. They were not on beat as if their music belonged only to themselves.

“Fine, Bats, you caught me. No, the van crash was not part of the plan. What can I say? I get a little too excited behind the wheel. It became more about escaping. But then, I found you.” A quick smile, flash of white teeth. “It all worked out.”

Yes, he supposed it had worked out for the Joker. Not so much for him. “The monorail job was much smaller scale than the subway. Did you lose more men than you were expecting?”

“You killing me backfired the plan a bit. Once I got away from you, I passed out again somewhere. By the time I woke up, the operation I had so carefully spent months planning had fizzled. Those idiots didn’t know what to do without me!” The irritation was plain to see now.

Bruce couldn’t help but feel relieved a little that Joker had fainted. The subway tunnels were a nightmare. If that wasn’t the full scope of his plan, it was better that the entire thing didn’t come to fruition.

“You still have a lot of safe houses though. The apartment, the house, whatever the underground one was…”

Joker’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not as clever as you think you are, Bats. Still trying to find out where I put the tape. Do you think I’m stupid?”

He abruptly stopped dancing. They were near the bookshelves. Bruce felt stuck between the shelf and Joker, whose hand was still on his waist.

“You don’t fool me. I know any time you talk to me, pretend you’re seeing me as a person, you’re trying to get the tape.” Another step. Joker was almost pressed against him. Bruce’s head went light. He tried to think clearly to form a rebuttal.

“For all your lecturing and posturing, ask yourself – what is the difference between us? What drives you, Bats? Protecting people? Or is it when you take a criminal down and smash your fist in their face, you can get off on being morally superior?”

“You’re a murderer.” Bruce countered. “We are nothing alike. No matter how many times you say it, it isn’t true.”

“The world isn’t black and white and doesn’t bend to your worldview.” His body was against his now. Bruce could feel his slender frame pushing against him. “People live in shades of grey. You proved that in the tunnels. You proved we are more similar than even I thought.” Joker’s voice was low, almost a growl.

Was he right? He wanted to reject what the Joker was saying. But he had shown in the tunnels that enough rage and a loss of control could drive him to do something horrible. Joker just didn’t worry about that loss of control. What if control was the only difference between him and someone like the Joker? The thought was awful.

Joker’s hand left his waist. Instead, it went to Bruce’s hair, tugging hard, forcing his head back, exposing his neck. Joker’s lips were brushing against the exposed skin. Every nerve in his body was alight as if he was on a roller coaster that had started its descent. His body was curled against Bruce’s, like a lion getting ready to maul its prey.

“Bruce,” Joker whispered roughly, “Why won’t you just admit it?” Each word brushed against his skin. His name was once again a sigh, a fragile phrase that left the Joker’s mouth quietly as if it wasn’t even spoken, it was just something Bruce felt.

He was rendered speechless. His eyes fluttered closed. The voice in his head telling him to push Joker away was a quiet thing. Far away.

“Why won’t you just give us what we both want?” Joker whispered. His voice was slinking up Bruce’s spine. Lips against his neck. Body pressed against him. The muffled music and noise of the party below his feet. In the distance, he heard a woman laugh loudly and it reached through his mental fog.

The party is what grounded him, made Bruce remember where he was and what he was supposed to be doing. With all the power he had, he forced his eyes open, brought his hands up to the Joker’s chest and pushed him off.

Joker’s face hardened. Without another word, he turned sharply on his heels and stormed out of the library, shutting the door behind him, similar to the night in the bedroom when Bruce’s hands were on his neck. Bruce remained against the bookshelf, trying to catch his breath. It was as if he had run a marathon – difficult to breathe, throat dry, head spinning. Jesus. What the hell was he doing? He had lost his fucking mind. To be in that position…it wasn’t the fact the Joker was a man that bothered him. It was the fact it was the _fucking Joker._

_I see you. Who else could say that?_

_Why won’t you just admit it?_ Admit what – that they were similar, that they were two sides of the same coin? He rubbed his face, deciding it was time to get out of here. It was too much. The entire night – what was wrong with him?

Bruce wasn’t sure how long he was in the library trying to get his bearings. But it was a panicked scream that jolted him out of his thoughts. Hurrying from the library, he looked over the balcony. The screams were coming from the outer garden grounds. A crowd was already forming. Bruce hurried down the staircase, pushing through the people.

When he finally got the doors that led to the grounds, he saw what had caused the scream. A dead body was slumped over by a row of hedges. The hedges looked as if someone had smashed through them to get out afterwards.

Bruce took a step forward. _Jameson,_ he thought suddenly as he looked at the body, _the man’s name had been Jameson._

On the ground, with a knife sticking out of his neck, lay the man from earlier. The one who had talked about Joker in front of him, who had made the disparaging remark about the lipstick. The blood pumped out of the wound, making a dark puddle around Jameson’s head.

And across his lips was a bright streak of red lipstick curling up into a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> Thanks so much for reading!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you like my work, please consider taking a look at my patreon! you can get early access to my projects as well as blog posts about my works: https://www.patreon.com/lylabanks

Bruce had a bad feeling as he flew across the sky towards Gotham City Bank. It was close to midnight and a robbery was taking place. _Who is stupid enough to rob the biggest bank in Gotham?_ He thought as he soared over a building. It had been a mostly quiet night until the alert came in. He had an idea who it could be doing a robbery this late…and he was dreading if he was correct.

By the time he arrived, the police surrounded the bank. Bruce remained hidden on the top of an apartment building across the street, scanning the bank, figuring out the best way to get in undetected. It was a suicide mission to try to rob Gotham City Bank. Bruce could not recall the last person to attempt it; since becoming Batman five years ago, he maybe stopped one robbery here.

There was a ventilation shaft he could use. It was nestled in the back, away from the police. He had been avoiding Gordon since the hologram. Alfred had claimed intense illness to Gordon, using spliced audio to mimic a communication to him about the kidnapping of Bruce being resolved. But he wasn’t sure Gordon truly believed it and it was easier to avoid him than try to lie. Even so, it was a strange feeling – avoiding Gordon.

Bruce used his grappling hook, circling around to the back of the bank and dropping onto the roof, ducking behind one of the pointed spires that poked from the top. A few seconds later, the cover was off the shaft and he dropped down it, landing quietly in a side office which was luckily empty.

His heat sensor showed eight men. Not nearly big enough to rob a bank of this size. They were sequestered around one of the large safes in the main lobby, trying to get in. What was their plan? How were they going to get out of here? Bruce decided he would take them down quickly so the police could come in and arrest them.

A voice crackled to life over the intercom system.

“C’mon, you idiots! You got about two minutes before the police bust in here!” Bruce’s heart fell. His hunch was right. Impatiently, the Joker spoke again, “You know what you need to do!”

The henchmen now forgotten, Bruce scanned the area trying to find Joker’s location. An intercom would mean an office of some sort. Tilting his face back, he found Joker on the second floor, his heat sensor catching it. Without alerting the henchmen, he silently darted up the stairs. The door was open a crack.

Bruce decided for a direct approach. Steeling himself, he burst into the room. Before Joker could properly react, he grabbed him by the back of his shirt and sent him flying against the wall. He crashed, knocking some items off a desk but otherwise unscathed. Joker started laughing, brushing off his knees as he stood up.

Tonight, he was back in full Joker attire. His hair was green, gloves purple, an untucked purple button up with dark green slacks on. The makeup was piled back on as well – the familiar white paint and red lipstick covering his face and neck.

“Bats! You’re here! I knew you would be.” Joker outstretched his hands, the grin making him look wild.

“You’re done.” Bruce warned with a firmness he did not feel.

Outside the bank, blasting over speakers, came the police. “ _We are entering the building in thirty seconds_!”

Not much time. He would have to knock Joker out first, leave the henchmen to the police. Joker was still laughing, his head thrown back, white teeth against the blackness of his throat. Bruce approached him, grabbed him by his upper arm. 

Joker brought his head forward. The grin had shifted to a snarl, something feral flickering in his eyes. Bruce was taken aback by the expression.

“I knew you would show up, Bats. I can read you like an open book. Can you read me? Do you want to?” He growled.

The police smashed in through the front door of the bank. A split second later, as Bruce looked at the Joker, the explosion went off.

Bruce went flying, the force of the bomb exploding through the glass of the second-floor office. The noise of was painfully loud, making his ears ring. He lost all sense of direction as he was blown back. The Joker was gone as well. The world was hell and fire – he was back in the subway tunnels, hearing the trains derail, feeling the ground shaking underneath his feet, smelling burnt flesh –

The sprinkler system kicked in, sirens blasting over the din of the explosion. Bruce had landed on his back, shielding his face from debris. Dizziness swept through him. _Why would he do this?_ He thought distantly. _Why would Joker want to bring back memories of the tunnels?_

He forced himself to get to his feet. Now he understood why Joker’s men had been hunched in one spot. They weren’t here to rob the place. They were here to simply bring chaos. Bruce could smell fire somewhere in the bank. He couldn’t see the front of it anymore. The entire front half seemed to have caved in. The police and the henchmen would have been killed instantly. But Joker…

Even though the fear was a terrible creature wiggling and moving inside him, Bruce forced himself forward. His heat sensor was now useless due to the flames. He would have to try to find Joker without assistance. Alfred was chiming in. He answered the call.

“I’m okay,” He said, turning on his smoke filter.

“Oh, thank God,” Alfred sounded tinny in his ear; his hearing was still muffled from the blast. “What happened?”

“Joker set off some sort of bomb.”

“Joker? He’s there?”

“Somewhere. I’m trying to find him. Do you have a lock on my location?” When Alfred answered yes, he said, “Send the bat mobile one block away. I’m not sure I’ll be able to get back on my own.”

The call ended. Bruce was back to where he thought the office had been. He began to dig through the debris, trying to find Joker. Panic was thrumming in his chest. He didn’t want to be here right now. He could see Joker slumped at his feet, dead. Could feel his frail body in his hands. The way his hands wrapped around his throat. The dead surrounding him. The bat suit began to feel confining. Bruce wanted out of his skin. To be somewhere else.

He found Joker conscious, trying to push debris off himself. His face was dirty, hair messy and he had some sort of heavy stone on his bad leg. When Joker saw him, he smiled.

“Give me a hand, Bats.” He called out over the din.

Bruce stood there for a moment. If he left Joker there, he would be arrested or even…it would be the end of his problems. Joker gone. His life back.

Joker leaned back, staring up at him. At his feet. Like in the subway. His chest was tight, fragile like a glass ball. But no matter what it would mean for him, Bruce couldn’t just leave him there to die. He bent down and pushed the heavy stone off his leg. Joker grimaced, grabbed onto his arm. Bruce helped him up. He slumped against him.

“Is it broken?” Bruce asked.

“Don’t think so, Bats.” He put pressure on it gingerly.

“What did you do? Why did you do this?” He demanded.

“Why don’t you get me out of here before you ask so many questions. Not all of us have a smoke filter.” He flicked his eyes upwards.

“I’m turning you over to the police.” Bruce said as they began to limp down the hallway towards one of the back exits.

Joker tripped, almost fell face first. Before he could protest, Bruce swept him up and threw him over his shoulder. Joker didn’t protest or complain, merely went quiet and limp.

Bruce slammed down the door and they spilled into the chilly Gotham night.


	18. Chapter 18

Once the cold air hit Joker’s lungs, he began to violently cough. Bruce shifted him off his shoulder, putting him down unsteadily on his feet. The sirens were loud, dark smoke spilling into the night sky. It was mingling with snow, forming a horrible thick blanket on everything.

“They’ll let a doctor see you.” Bruce said.

Joker pushed away from him. “You know you can’t turn me in. Get me out of here, Bats, or an explosion will be the least of your problems.” He began to cough again, stumbling a bit.

A split choice to make. He couldn’t linger. Either the police would find them and take Joker or he could get him out of here. Leaving Joker would mean his identity would surely be exposed. Not only that but if the police lingered with getting him a doctor…

Bruce grabbed Joker firmly by his upper arm and began to tug him down the narrow alleyway. He pressed a button on the digital console located on his arm and the bat mobile glided down a side street.

“Oh, an Uber.” Joker said weakly, his voice faint.

“Get in.” Bruce shoved him into the passenger side, wondering what the hell he was doing. This was not right. Joker should be in custody right now. But he couldn’t give him over without the confession tape safely in his hands.

Joker slouched against the seat, eyes closed. Bruce got in, turned the car on auto, and opened the medical kit he kept inside. The bat mobile glided soundlessly away from the explosion, away from the police, away from doing what was right.

Bruce brought the oxygen mask down on Joker’s face, held it in place as he breathed in clean air. It left streaks through the dirt and debris that covered the white makeup. Joker took the mask and held it to his face. Bruce turned his attention back to the bat mobile, figuring out where to ditch Joker. He wouldn’t bring him to Wayne Manor. But he couldn’t turn him over to the GCPD either. His moral compass was slipping. He could feel himself teetering on that ledge where he would lose control of the situation…or worse, himself. The explosion had knocked loose something inside him. Flashes of the subway tunnel kept flickering across his brain like a bad movie.

He settled on the clock tower where Joker stabbed him. He would drop Joker off there and let him figure the rest out. The police would be out in full force tonight around the bank. More people had died due to this monster next to him. Rage and fear tasted raw and metallic in his mouth.

Joker didn’t speak. His eyes remained closed the entire drive as he breathed in the oxygen. By the time they arrived at the clock tower, he didn’t seem to be as sick. Even so, he should still see a doctor. _Not my problem,_ Bruce told himself coldly, _he can figure it out from here._

The park was empty. Bruce opened the door and got out, went to the passenger side. When he opened the door, Joker stared at him, his eyes red from smoke irritation.

“Get out.”

Joker lowered the mask. “You’re just ditching me, Bats?”

“I got you out of the bank. Don’t ask me for anything more. You killed people again tonight. You blew up your own men and police officers. Why?”

Joker got out of the bat mobile, looked over at the clock tower. The snow was coming down faster and heavier now. He shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled something out. It glittered in his hand. Bruce realized it was a large diamond.

“Belongs to Sionis.” He grinned. “Worth a pretty penny.”

“And blowing up the bank?”

“They knew what they signed up for.” Joker said with a shrug. “I wanted the diamond. Not for the money. Just because I could take it. To piss him off.”

The rage was settling across Bruce. Bubbling. He fought it down. “People _died_ so you could steal a diamond from Sionis for no reason.”

Joker put the diamond back in his pocket. “Yes, that’s right, Bats. They died. I had them plant the explosion and time it for when the police entered. Those cops died too. They’re dead and you helped me get away. So much for being honorable.” He smirked.

It was the smirk that set him off. Without thinking, the bubble of rage popped and Bruce lunged. Joker ducked quickly and the punch didn’t connect. He toppled into Bruce, knocking him to the ground.

Bruce used his weight to his advantage. Joker was taller but he was much stronger. He swung and the punch connected with Joker’s stomach. He doubled over and Bruce shoved him off.

Then Bruce was on top of him, bringing his fist down across Joker’s face. He was laughing, a high-pitched cackle, even when his fist connected and split his lip.

“Come on, Bats!” Joker yelled at him gleefully. “Hit me again! Hit me harder! I know what you want! My brains against the pavement! Just do it! I’ll really _lean_ into it this time!”

His fist was raised, ready to come down again but Joker’s words gave him pause. Made him realize what he was doing. He had lost control again.

Joker saw him hesitate. He brought his hand up and struck Bruce in the jaw. Surprised, he recoiled. Joker managed to wiggle out from underneath him. His lip was bleeding badly, mingling with the grime and dirt from the blast. He stumbled to his feet. Bruce reached out, grabbed his bad foot and tugged. Joker hit the pavement.

He scrambled onto Joker’s back. His fingers were in his hair, tugging it painfully until Joker’s head was forced back. Bruce brought his mouth against Joker’s ear.

“I’m not giving you want you want. I understand it now. You want me to kill you. Your ultimate victory.”

Throat hoarse, sounding wet from the blood, Joker croaked. “When will you just admit it? I know you feel it.”

“The only thing I feel for you is disgust.” Bruce said, letting go of his hair and getting to his feet.

Joker rolled onto his back, staring up at him. He looked like a pathetic thing on the pavement. Blood smeared against grime, rolling down his neck, leaving ghastly trails of red, white and black. He didn’t speak.

Bruce turned around to get in the bat mobile, leaving Joker in the fallen snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you like my work, please consider taking a look at my patreon! you can get early access to my projects as well as blog posts about my works: https://www.patreon.com/lylabanks


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you like my work, please consider taking a look at my patreon! you can get early access to my projects as well as blog posts about my works: https://www.patreon.com/lylabanks

_Smoke filled the subway tunnels. Bruce turned to the right and was suddenly in Arkham. The smoke poured out of the doors. Joker stood in the middle of the hallway in handcuffs. The police surrounded him._

_“Don’t worry, Batman. This asshole isn’t getting out. We have a special cell for the likes of him.” A guard said. Joker heard, looked up. Something flickered behind his eyes._

_The smoke was growing thicker. He couldn’t breathe. Joker tried to open his mouth to speak but blood poured out. It covered the front of his prison uniform. Bruce took a step forward. Joker fell to his knees. His eyes rolled into the back of his head. Somewhere in the distance, an explosion shook the ground. Bruce couldn’t breathe. Needed to get to him before…_

He jolted awake. Looked around. Relaxed. Realized he was in a limo. It was okay. Bruce focused on his breathing, but his heart was pounding. Jesus, another fucked up dream. He had been dreaming of the Joker every time he fell asleep since the night of the bank explosion a week ago. Every time Bruce closed his eyes, he saw Joker on the pavement, bleeding, disoriented, fragile.

He didn’t know if Joker had gotten to safety. He imagined he must have, or the police would have picked him up and it would have been major news. But even if Joker was somewhere safe, was he sick? He had inhaled a lot of smoke and injured his bad leg again.

And why did Bruce care? He saved Joker, made sure he didn’t get arrested, got him oxygen – more than he should have done. If Joker died, it wouldn’t be his fault. He had stopped himself from repeating his mistake from the subway tunnel.

He understood now what Joker wanted. The explosion, Bruce choking him to death, Joker urging him on…it all made sense. He achieved clarity.

His phone buzzed, breaking his train of thought. It was Alfred; he had been increasingly concerned for Bruce due to the current events and the bank robbery resulted in him checking up often. Bruce didn’t mind although he hated that he was causing Alfred stress.

“Master Bruce,” He said in a tone that instantly had him alert, “Are you coming home soon?”

“Yes. I’m about ten minutes out. Why?”

“Well, Master Bruce…” He paused for a moment. “ _He’s here_.”

“What?”

“He’s here. In the house.”

Bruce didn’t need an explanation as to _who_ was in Wayne Manor. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, Master Bruce. He’s in your quarters. Didn’t seem very interested in me. Asked if I could let you know he was here.”

“Okay. If anything happens…”

“I don’t think it will, sir.” He said with…a tone of almost amusement in his voice? That couldn’t be possible.

The call ended. Bruce tried to mentally regroup. The Joker in Wayne Manor. In his house. In his _room_. Joker had no idea of the bat cave underneath the manor and Bruce wanted to try to keep it that way as long as possible. If anything happened to Alfred…

After the longest ten minutes of his life, he was home. Scurrying out of the limo, Bruce hurried into the foyer. Alfred was waiting for him. He appeared to be unharmed.

“Everything okay?”

“Master Wayne, he is still in your quarters. I believe he is…”

“What?”

“Taking a bath, sir.” Ah, that was where the hint of amusement came from.

Bruce stared at Alfred for a long beat and then took off up the winding staircase. “Master Bruce?”

He stopped at the top of the stairs, looked over his shoulder. “I’ll be okay.”

“Yes, sir, that seems to be what you always say.” Alfred replied.

Bruce frowned for a moment, wondering what to make of that. But he didn’t have time to linger. He nodded at Alfred, relieved he was okay, and went off to his quarters.

His rooms were located near the back of the manor. He liked the privacy. Of course, Bruce knew that was silly. The manor was empty minus himself and Alfred. But if he hosted any parties or events, he liked being able to take a moment to himself far away from the hustle and bustle. It felt safe.

With Joker in there, it no longer came off that way.

Bruce opened the door, expecting the worst…Joker to have trashed the place, perhaps, before going into the bath. But the room appeared untouched. He could hear music playing from the bathroom. _Messa da Requiem_ by Verdi. What a strange selection.

He rubbed his hands against the front of his suit jacket. Then he thought it would be too formal to show up in the bathroom in a suit he had worn to Wayne Tower. He shrugged out of the jacket, tossed it on the bed. Pulled his shirt from his waist so it wasn’t tucked in. Rolled down his sleeves a little. Wondered what the fuck he was doing.

Bruce walked down the small hallway to the bathroom. He always told himself he would have a better handle on the situation before he interacted with Joker and he never did. The night of the subway, the kidnapping, getting the Batman confession recorded, stabbing him in the clock tower, the bank explosion…the list was endless and each one flashed against his head as he knocked on the bathroom door and went inside.

Joker was in the large jacuzzi tub that Bruce hadn’t used in years. He wasn’t one for sinking in the water and being alone with his thoughts. But Joker had the music blasting on the record player. His eyes were closed. The bath was full of bubbles. Way too many bubbles. They were dripping over the edge of the bath onto the marble floor.

Bruce went over to the record player and lifted the needle. Joker’s eyes flashed opened, settled on him. His lips twisted into a quick smirk. Even in the bath, he had his makeup on. He wore his gloves too.

“Batsy, took you long enough.” Joker closed his eyes again, settling back into the tub.

“Why are you here?”

“Is that how you’re going to greet me after our last encounter?” He pouted for a moment, gesturing to his face. “I’m still healing.” Sure enough, his bottom lip was still split and slightly swollen.

“Makeup seems to cover the bruises. And I didn’t break your nose.”

“Not that time, anyway.” Joker’s tone was clipped.

Bruce ran his fingers through his hair, unsure of what to say. Things felt…awkward. If such a thing was possible. Joker opened his eyes again, looked at him. Studied him.

“I have something for you.” He announced.

“Do you?” Bruce deadpanned.

Joker’s hand went under the bubbles and popped back up a second later. Outstretched towards him, resting on the glove, was the diamond from the bank explosion.

Bruce stared at it. “Why would I want this?”

Joker clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth impatiently. “I told you. I didn’t steal this for any other reason than pissing off Sionis. He’s pissed. I don’t need it now.”

He crossed the bathroom, looked down at Joker. His makeup was running a bit from the heat of the bath water. His hair, a dark messy green, was dripping water. Bruce could see the curve of his neck, the top of his shoulders before the bubbles took over. He swallowed.

“What am I supposed to do with it?”

“Return it. Keep it. I don’t care.” He plopped it into Bruce’s hand.

The diamond sparkled in his hand. The sight of it stirred something in him. He said, “The bank explosion. I get it now.”

Joker tilted his face to look at Bruce. “Do you?” Tone was neutral. Bruce noticed.

He slipped the diamond in his pocket. Then he sat down on the floor, leaning back against the wall, opposite Joker so that he could look directly at him from this angle and not be looming. He didn’t want Joker to feel intimidated or on his guard.

“You were recreating the subway tunnels. If you mimicked what set me off the first time, it could happen again.”

“And why would I want that, Bats?” Joker’s voice was low, serious.

“Because you know I don’t kill. And you want me to kill you. For good.”

The words hung in the air between them. For the first time since the madness started, Bruce felt as if he finally had a conversation he was in control of. Even with Joker bursting in his house and using his tub, this was a topic that he could steer.

“And it almost worked,” Bruce went on. “The explosion. The senseless loss of life. Your attitude about it. It made me feel that…that rage again. I wanted to hurt you. Just like the night of the subway tunnels. I felt as if I was back there. Reliving it. And you were the cause again.”

Joker had gone silent. His face was unreadable. Bruce swallowed but didn’t allow himself to waver.

“When I attacked you in the subway tunnel, when you went limp and looked dead and I couldn’t get you to breathe…that changed something in me. You were right. It was transformative. But not in the way you wanted. It made me realize that no one is untouchable. Everyone can be pushed to the limits or teeter off a ledge. But _I saved you_. I made sure to do everything I could to bring you back. That’s the difference between us. You revel in your lack of self-control. You want me to join you in it. But I can’t. And I won’t. Even if I fail sometimes.”

He met Joker’s eyes then and waited for him to speak. There was no noise in the room, as if the world outside ceased to exist. There was just him and the Joker. In some ways, it had always felt like that since the Joker first appeared. Bruce was only now realizing it.

Joker looked away from him, dragged his fingers across the bubbles. “I think about you all the time, Bruce.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that.

“Before I knew who Batman was, I used to wonder what your life was like, what you did when you weren’t ruining my fun, what made you happy or sad. I thought about you more than I have anyone else. It disgusted me.” He fell silent for a few seconds. “Since finding out it was _you_ underneath the suit, I think the same things. What your life is like when I am not around and you’re running your company. If watching your parents die made you decide to dress up as a bat and fly around Gotham. What you do in this giant house alone. If you’ve ever wondered about me when I’m not around.”

Bruce’s chest was tight. He was picturing Joker’s lips brushing against his neck at the party for some reason. The way he had tugged his hair back to expose his neck. How Bruce had done the same thing to him in the park. The twinge of relief he felt when Joker revealed he knew Bruce was Batman.

“Hand me a towel and my clothes, won’t you?” Joker shifted gears suddenly, stretching out his hand.

Bruce, realizing that was going to be the end of the conversation, stood up and handed him a towel. His gloves were shorter than normal tonight and he could see the delicate thin skin of his wrist exposed as he took the towel.

He reached for Joker’s clothes and stopped. “These are my clothes.”

“Are they?” Joker asked innocently. “Well, I can hardly leave the bath naked, can I?”

Bruce thrust the clothes at him, feeling suddenly and weirdly shy at the thought of Joker getting out of the tub. He headed to the door.

“Don’t run off.” Joker called after him. “I’ll be out soon.”

His heart thrummed in his chest like a trapped bird. _I think about you all the time._ The words bounced around in his head.

_I think about you too,_ Bruce thought silently, _more than I understand or want to admit._


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you like my work, please consider taking a look at my patreon! you can get early access to my projects as well as blog posts about my works: https://www.patreon.com/lylabanks
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Joker came out of the bathroom a couple minutes later. He was wearing a pair of Bruce’s pajama pants and an oversized sweater. He was still tugging it down as he walked into the bedroom. Bruce saw dark bruises on his side. Joker’s pale skin was mottled with purple and yellow.

He saw Bruce looking and stopped tugging down the sweater, instead keeping it raised up. “Admiring your handiwork, Bats? This is nothing compared to what my neck looked like when you were done with it.”

Bruce realized the bruises were from when he punched him in the stomach at the park a week ago. Had it really been that hard of a hit? He supposed it had. Joker yanked the sweater down.

Bruce had sat at the edge of his bed but when Joker also perched there, he wondered if this was a mistake. No distance between them. Joker in his clothes. It was a surreal image and not for the first time Bruce wondered if he was losing the end goal of finding out where the tape and the backups were located.

“Man, your parents dying really did a number on you.” Joker said suddenly, peering around the room.

At the mention of his parents, Bruce stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, come on, Bats. Look at you. More money than God with a house that could probably fit all of Gotham’s homeless and its just you and the old man in here. You could go anywhere. Do anything. Even break the law. It doesn’t matter to the rich,” He lowered his voice as if sharing a secret, “The rich don’t follow the same laws as us peasants. Just pay a fine or bribe a cop and then you’re on your way.” He leaned back on the bed, the sweater riding up to expose a hint of his stomach.

Bruce felt strange and looked away quickly from his pale skin. He tried to look directly at the Joker instead. If he noticed that the sweater had ridden up, he didn’t seem to care because he kept speaking, “But no, instead of just sitting around with your money, you opted to dress up as a bat and stop crime. It makes sense now, Batsy, the motivation. Your parents death must’ve really fucked you up. I know I didn’t give a fuck when mine died.” He grinned.

Bruce was unsure if Joker had told him something true about his past. It was safe to assume everything that left his mouth in regard to his past was a lie, so he skirted around the information.

“Are you trying to psychoanalyze me?”

“Only feels fair, Bats. The first time you tossed me in Gotham, do you remember what you said?”

Bruce did. That was back when he thought Joker was just a regular criminal, if not a bit more homicidal than most. He assumed locking Joker in Arkham would be the last time he would see him. How wrong he had been.

“I told you that your need for chaos was probably rooted in neglect and a need for attention. That you were a sociopath who couldn’t feel real human emotions but perhaps in Arkham, you would receive the help you needed to atone for the crimes you committed but it would be a long shot.”

Joker grinned. Bruce’s eyes flicked back to the exposed skin, back to his face. His heart was beating fast and he wasn’t sure why.

“Did you keep tabs on me in Arkham?”

“I heard you terrorized whoever was assigned to you. They either quit or wanted to save you. Eventually, the board couldn’t find anyone who wanted to have sessions with you or have anyone they trusted to have sessions with you. They kept you in a cell.”

“That’s right, Bats. They gave up on me.” He pouted before letting out a sharp laugh. “They always do.”

“Your men seem loyal to you. Loyal enough to die.” Bruce remarked, circling the conversation back to Joker’s activities in the hopes of gleaning new information.

“Those idiots? They have about one braincell between them,” Joker scoffed, “But I need the manpower.”

“You had a lot less manpower at the monorail hijacking. Probably because you constantly blow up your own men.”

“It would have been so fun to hijack the entire monorail!” His face darkened. “But you’re right. It was much smaller and then it went to hell.” He shifted then and grimaced in pain.

Bruce looked down at Joker’s feet. The ankle of his injured leg looked swollen and was bruised. It was clear that he hadn’t been doing anything to take care of it. _Plus the split lip and bruises on his side I gave him,_ he thought guiltily.

“Since you’re here, why don’t you let me look at your ankle? It should be braced at the very least.” Bruce offered without thinking.

Joker blinked but his eyes were unreadable. “You gonna patch me up, Bats?”

“Wait here.” He said.

Bruce got up, left to go back to the bathroom. Under the vanity was a large first aid kit. Picking it up, he took it to the bedroom. Joker was in the same position: leaning back, propping himself up a little, his long legs dangling off the bed. The sight of him in Bruce’s room was jarring, as if two worlds had collided and his brain could hardly put them together. Joker was a killer, a horrible person who deserved to be locked up and here Bruce was, getting ready to patch him up. _It’s to find the tape,_ he told himself.

Bruce sat down at the head of the bed, crossing his legs and turning to face Joker. “Bring your legs up.”

Joker eyed him for a moment, weighing his options. The pain seemed to win, however, because he shifted his position. He swung his legs onto the bed, turning his body so that his legs were now in front of Bruce. He still leaned back, propping himself up, looking at him in a way that made Bruce unsteady.

Gingerly, Bruce rolled up the leg of the pajama pant. He realized Joker’s toenails were painted purple. He wondered when Joker had time to do such a thing. It was a minor detail that said a lot about him. Even when Joker was in pain and plotting, he somehow still took time out of his day to paint his toenails. He glanced at the gloves Joker wore. Did he paint his fingernails too?

Carefully, Bruce lifted Joker’s foot and placed it in his lap. Joker winced. His ankle was tender to touch and purple in some places. The bruising extended upwards onto his calf.

“How badly did you land on your leg in the crash? I, uh, don’t remember it. Think I blacked out.”

His fingers gently traced Joker’s skin. His head was light. The touch was a whisper of a thing yet Bruce felt as if every nerve of his was alive for reasons he didn’t understand.

“The van rolled over in the ditch. My leg got stuck underneath the steering wheel from the angle we landed.” Joker’s voice was short and monotone. It was as if the event hadn’t happened to him and he was merely reciting it. “One of my men got me out. But we had to move quickly, and I think I made something worse as I hurried.”

Bruce decided he would wrap it the best he could. It was difficult to be able to do something for a muscle injury. Joker would need to go to a hospital and that was an impossibility. He took some of the bandages and began to wrap his foot slowly.

“This might be a bit tight.” Bruce said as his fingers dragged across Joker’s skin.

“I can handle it, Bats.”

They fell silent. He tried to focus on wrapping his ankle but his mind was drifting. He was thinking about Joker on top of him in the clock tower in that white wet button up. The way his lips pressed against Bruce’s neck when he whispered. How he looked without any makeup on at the party. The images flickered across his head and Bruce desperately wished they would stop.

Joker’s skin was cold. It was always seemingly cold. As he wrapped it, lost in thought, Joker spoke. “There was another reason I came here outside the diamond.”

“And why was that?”

“Tomorrow night. I’m going to send you a letter and an address. You need to show up.”

Bruce stopped, glancing up at him. “Ordering me around now?”

“Bats, don’t get fussy on me,” Joker said impatiently, “Do we have to review the details every time you don’t want to do something? I have the tape. You have nothing.”

He finished wrapping his ankle. “Too tight?”

“No such thing.” Joker replied and for some reason, Bruce swore he was feeling a blush creep up his neck.

“Where are you taking me?” He asked as he rummaged around the first aid kit for something to help Joker’s bruises and split lip.

He slowly pulled his leg out of Bruce’s lap, reached down and touched the bandages. “It’s a bar.”

“A bar?” That wasn’t what he was expecting.

“My men gather there. I want to show Mr. Wayne what the underside of Gotham is really like. Far removed from your mansions and money.” Joker grinned wickedly. “Doesn’t that sound _fun_?”

“You want to take me to a seedy bar where you and your henchmen hang out?” Bruce blinked, making sure he heard Joker properly.

It seemed too good to be true. Bruce had been unsuccessfully trying to find out information about the Joker and now this just landed in his lap…to refuse would be foolish but he wondered if it was some sort of trap.

“Won’t they recognize me?”

Joker waved a gloved hand in annoyance. “Don’t worry about that.”

Bruce found a small tube of cream that would numb any pain from the bruises. “Put this on your side.” He offered it to him.

Joker looked at the tube for a moment before shaking his head. “Bats, I can’t reach at that angle. You do it.” He smiled brightly at him, all innocence and rainbows. Bruce didn’t trust him for a second – he knew what he was doing.

He shifted nervously. Joker moved, laying back down in his original position with his legs hanging off the bed, wiggling so the sweater rode back up, exposing the bruises. Bruce put some of the cream on his fingers, leaned over and gently began to rub it across the bruises. Face to face with what he had done to Joker’s body, he couldn’t shake the weird sense of shame. _He’s a psychotic killer. He ruined the entire subway system of Gotham and left hundreds dead and laughed in your face about it. He blew up a bank just to try to get you to kill him. He’s stabbed you!_ Yet no matter how many times he mentally recited it, Bruce still felt shame.

His fingertips gently touched the bruises, rubbing the cream against Joker’s skin. He found himself staring at the top of his hips just poking out above the pajama pants. Joker’s skin was very pale, and Bruce could make out the thread of delicate veins just underneath. They looked like dark violets against lily’s breath…reminded him of the dining room table where the Batman confession occurred. The dark purple of the bruise seemed to leap off Joker’s skin.

He wanted to think of something to bring up and discuss but his brain was weirdly empty. All he could focus on was rubbing the numbing cream against the bruises. Joker tilted his face to the side and studied Bruce.

“There.” He finished a couple minutes later. “You should take this with you when you go.”

“No sleepover?” Joker remarked as he took the tube.

Tongue tied again, Bruce paused for a moment before replying, “You can go to one of your many hideouts. My home isn’t one of them.”

Joker looked down at his bruises and said absentmindedly, “How is that healing, by the way? Will it scar?”

He assumed Joker meant the stab wound. “It’s healing,” He didn’t want to tell Joker that Alfred had redone the stitches. It felt like that would be something that could offend him. “Although yes, there will be some sort of scar.”

Joker pulled his sweater down. “Sadly, I received no scar from your murder attempt.”

Without thinking, Bruce said, “Maybe I should stab you.”

Joker looked up, stared at him for a moment and then burst into laughter. It was a loud, high pitched sound that bounced off the walls. “Bats! Why, I can’t believe it. You made a joke! And a good one at that!”

Bruce felt oddly pleased at the fact he had made Joker laugh. He rummaged through the first aid kit and found a pain cream for his split lip. When it held it out towards the Joker, who was still laughing, he shook his head again.

“C’mon, Bats. I’m laughing too hard. You’re gonna have to help me with that too.”

He wanted to refuse, tell Joker he was asking too much. But the words died in his mouth. Instead, he put some of the lip cream on his thumb and leaned close. Joker parted his lips, making eye contact with Bruce.

_What is wrong with me?_ He thought once more as his heart began to pound and the blood rushed to his ears. _I should be throwing him in Arkham._ But the voice protesting had gotten very quiet. It was as if someone was shouting at Bruce far away in the middle of a great big storm.

Bruce ran his thumb over Joker’s split bottom lip. Some of his lipstick rubbed against his finger, leaving a red smear. The touch was electric, rolling through his body in a way he hadn’t ever experienced. His chest was tight – a balloon about to pop. He liked the way his lips felt under his thumb, liked the slow rise and fall of Joker’s chest, the scent of him. Bruce was teetering on the edge of…he wasn’t even sure. It was as if he was no longer breathing. Just rubbing Joker’s lip softly. So close that he could…the way Joker’s lips were parted…

The thought shamed Bruce and he pulled away. Joker rubbed his lips together and then slid off the bed in one fluid motion.

“I’m leaving now.” He declared.

“What?” Bruce was dazed.

“Tomorrow night you’ll get a letter from me. It will have instructions on where to come. I expect to see you there.” Joker leaned over and plucked the tube Bruce was holding out of his hand. He lingered. His gloved fingers went underneath Bruce’s chin and tilted his face upwards.

He was looking at Joker head on. He swallowed. For one wild moment, he thought…

“Bruce,” Joker whispered and the sound of his name in his mouth made Bruce feel weak, “Do you feel that?”

He couldn’t bring himself to answer. Joker was so close it felt as if he could get lost in him.

Joker smiled slowly. It was a wicked grin. Dangerous. Those front crooked teeth spoke of the secret between them. The past Joker was so eager to replay.

“I feel it too.”

Then he pulled away and without a backwards glance left Bruce alone in his bedroom – a space that no longer belonged to him. Just like with his life, Joker had left his mark there too.

Belatedly, Bruce realized Joker had also stolen his clothes.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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It was pouring rain and the thunderclaps were loud. Under muddled streetlight, Bruce looked across the street to the nondescript building. It matched the address Joker had written in the note which arrived two hours ago to Wayne Manor. A masked man dropped it off with Alfred.

He hadn’t left just a note, however, but also a mask. It was a clown mask with purple lips.

_“Won’t they recognize me?”_

_“Don’t worry about that.”_ Joker said last night and now Bruce understood why.

He was nervous for various reasons. Yes, this was a way to possibly glean more information about Joker and the tape. But it still felt as if he was crossing a moral line. To mingle with whoever Joker had in there, to possibly witness something illegal or wrong and what, just stand there? On top of that, he had been dwelling on Joker in his clothes, in the tub, his split lip, his final words –

_“Bruce, do you feel that? I feel it too.”_

The way it wouldn’t leave his head was deeply unsettling. It was not proper. It was not right. No matter how many times he told himself to stop, he couldn’t. _It’s because I’ve been around him too much. Trying to focus on getting the Batman confession is taking all my energy. It’s normal to be dwelling. The faster I find the tape, the faster I can put Joker back in Arkham._

There was nothing they were both feeling. More of Joker’s mind games.

With that in the back of his head, Bruce slipped the mask on and hurried across the street. He knocked on the metal door. Nothing happened. Wondering if he gotten the wrong address, his clothes getting wet from the rain, he was about to circle around the building when it opened a crack.

Another masked man stared at him. Bruce wondered if there was a password to give. But then the man opened the door wider and motioned for him to step in. He did so and the man took off down a narrow hallway. There was muffled music blaring and the stench of beer and cigarettes in the air. Well, Joker had told him that it would be some seedy underbelly of Gotham.

Bruce followed the bouncer. The music grew louder. He could feel the vibrations under his feet. They stopped in front of a door and the man pushed it open, gesturing for Bruce to go inside. The music spilled out into the hallway. It was deafening loud rock music.

He went into the room. His vision was limited because of the mask which he disliked. There was barely any lights and the ones on were green and purple, offering very little illumination. The space was small. A bar was on his right and in the middle were tables. A stage was empty. The music must have been piped through speakers only.

It was crowded but Bruce surmised that Joker didn’t have very many men. The subway attack six months ago would have taken out the bulk of them and he had lost more at the bank explosion. Even so, the room was small enough that everyone was cramped together. It was hot and stuffy. Bruce did not like it. It reminded him of the subway tunnels. He was starting to realize that while he actively ran from any memory associated with the death, terror and loss of control in the tunnels, Joker seemingly sought it out and basked in it.

Speaking of Joker, Bruce didn’t see him. He wished he could go to the corner and keep to himself. But he needed to make sure that Joker knew he was here. So, he forced himself towards the bar, weaving his way through the crowd. Everyone wore an identical mask – the same mask Bruce saw the night of the subway tunnel, the hijacking, and the bank explosion. What would they say if they knew Batman walked among them?

He waited by the bar, a headache from the loud music forming. His side where Joker stabbed him was aching tonight. Bruce wished he were out in the night sky, looking for ways to keep Gotham safe. Doing this felt as if he only cared about trying to get himself safe.

The lights flashed; the music suddenly shut off. Everyone turned their attention to the stage automatically. Bruce did the same. One purple spotlight shone on the stage now. A couple seconds later, Joker strolled out. His men began to cheer loudly, clapping their hands and whistling. _Cheering for their tyrant,_ Bruce thought.

Tonight, Joker wore a suit that was entirely purple. The only hint of green, outside his hair, was the tie. His makeup was carefully applied and tidy. His walking cane was firmly in one hand and Bruce could tell even though his ankle was bandaged, he still was leaning onto the cane. He was presentable tonight, clearly in a good mood. But Bruce knew how quickly his moods could change. He recalled the way Joker had murdered Jameson at the botanical gardens before he left in a huff. Yes, anything could happen. The anxiety began to brew in his chest.

“Alright, alright,” Joker said into the microphone that had been hastily set up, “You’re just flattering me now.”

The applause and cheers quieted. Each man looked up at Joker with simple devotion.

He tilted his head to the side, smiling brightly. If Bruce didn’t know him, didn’t know what he was like, he would have to say the smile was almost charming. “As you know, we lost some of own the other night in a horrible bank robbery gone wrong.” He pressed his hands against his chest, pouting. The cane toppled to the stage floor. “They died for the cause and for that we cannot forget them.”

_Is he serious?_ Bruce thought, glancing around. He had blown them up to steal a diamond he didn’t even need and then tried to get Bruce to kill him. Although he supposed to Joker that was a good cause.

“Now, I know what you’re thinking. I know this because you’ve been _saying it_! Not to me, of course. Behind my back. But still, you’ve been discussing it.” Joker’s voice had dropped an octave, but he was still smiling. The hair on the back of Bruce’s neck stood up.

Joker motioned to someone off stage. The next second, two masked men appeared dragging a badly beaten man to the middle of the stage. Bruce stood up straighter, his stomach dropping. The crowd burst into a hum.

“Now, now!” Joker shouted over the growing din. “We all know him! We’ve all worked with him! But I have to admit, I know what you’re thinking! You’re thinking ‘oh shit, he talked to me about Joker, didn’t he? He came to me and said Joker vanished halfway through the subway tunnel operation and he lost more men at the bank! Maybe he doesn’t know what he is doing!’ Isn’t that right?”

The crowd had gone still. No more whispering or muttering. The traitor was thrown down onto the stage of the floor. His nose was broken and one eye swollen shut. Bruce wanted to look away, leave or run up on the stage and stop Joker. But all he did was stand there. This felt like a test. Joker would know he was here. If he did anything to risk Joker’s ire, not only did he risk the Batman confession being released but also any chance of finding its location.

“If you’re not with me, you’re against me – not to sound cliché but sometimes clichés work for a reason!” Joker announced to the crowd. The smile had yet to leave his face. “If you’re doubting my vision, you should come talk to me directly about it instead of behind my back! Do you understand?”

The crowd murmured assent. Joker appeared placated. He gestured for the traitor to get up. The man rose to his feet, wavering a little, his knees knocking together.

“Do you understand?” Joker repeated, this time directed at the man.

“Y-Yes.” The man replied.

“Then get out of here.”

The man turned around, stumbling to get off the stage. Joker stared at the crowd, face frozen in that twisted smile of his. As the traitor got close to disappearing off stage, Joker slipped one gloved hand in the inside of his jacket.

The next second, the gun went off. The man took a step forward and toppled. His body hit the floor. The crowd stirred in alarm. Joker blew the smoke off the gun and slipped it back into his jacket.

The man wasn’t dead. He made horrible gurgling noises as he choked on his own blood. Bruce thought he might throw up. He wasn’t normally squeamish. But it was stuffy in the room and suffocating in the mask and he was thinking about the tunnels –

“Have I made myself clear?” Joker growled. The man went still. He was dead.

The crowd shouted their acknowledgment. The fear hung in the air. Bruce understood what had just happened, why Joker had done it. A group of followers who no longer believed or questioned you meant your time was running out. Joker would not give up Gotham that easily.

Joker locked eyes with Bruce then. He wasn’t sure how Joker knew it was him. Perhaps he had put something on the mask to let him know. _The purple lips,_ he thought. Joker picked up the cane, stepped off the stage and began moving towards him. The crowd parted. The music turned on, just as loud as before.

Joker leaned across the bar, shouting something at the bartender. Everything about him was long – long arms, long legs, long neck – there was something strangely elegant that surrounded Joker. The bartender handed him two drinks. Joker shoved one at him. Bruce took it but didn’t sip from it. He needed to keep his head clear.

Joker leaned forward to shout in his ear. “Enjoy the show?”

Bruce shook his head. Joker threw back his head and laughed. His teeth glinted in the green light. A shark hiding in algae. Then he took a swig of the drink, finishing it in one gulp. He put the drink on the bar and…turned away, back into the crowd, leaving Bruce alone.

He stood there, wondering if he was supposed to go after him. But Joker didn’t look back at him, make any sign at all he was to follow. _He’s ditching me,_ he thought stupidly. He should be relieved. Instead he just felt…put aside.

Joker was swallowed up in the crowd, leaving Bruce standing there like a jackass. His earlier promise to keep his head clear faded and he finished the drink quickly before ordering another and swigging it. By the time the second drink hit his system, he was feeling angry and buzzed. Distantly, he knew that was a mistake.

The music filled his head. It was impossible to think clearly. He kept hearing the man choking to death on his own blood. He thought Joker was going to talk to him or be around more. Then he was angry with himself for feeling that way.

_I’ll find him myself,_ he thought buzzing, finally leaving the bar to locate Joker.

Bruce pushed through the crowd. It was so hot in this fucking mask. He wished he could tear it off. He hated that Joker brought him to this stupid place and then didn’t even talk to him. Bruce couldn’t help but feel as if he been jerked around. _Why do I care?_ The fact he cared made it even worse.

There was a hallway off to the side. It was the only place he hadn’t looked. Bruce stumbled. Someone pushed him in annoyance. He toppled into the hallway. At the end of it were two figures. He recognized the curve of Joker’s neck. The hallway seemed to stretch before him, but Bruce kept walking, determined to get to Joker.

Halfway there, the image seemed to crystalize. One of the masked men was pushed against the wall. Joker was in front of him. Bruce stopped walking. His mind tried to wrap around what he was seeing.

Joker’s hand was shoved down the front of the man’s pants. He was stroking him, Bruce realized with a jolt that felt as if he had just downed a cup of coffee. The man’s eyes were closed. Joker’s hand was moving slowly, teasing him.

The sight of seeing something so intimate knocked Bruce off kilter. Joker had one hand against the wall next to the man’s head, the other down his pants, playing with his cock. The look on his face was one of an animal about to kill. He was studying the man even though not much could be gleaned due to the mask. The scent of cigarette smoke was smothering Bruce. The mask was glued to his face. His stomach churned as if he had swallowed acid.

Bruce took a step back. The shadow must have caught Joker’s attention because he looked up right at that moment. His eyes fell on Bruce, but he didn’t stop what he was doing. A slow smirk broke out across his face. His eyes seemed to dance.

Bruce turned around, anxious to get out of there. He no longer wanted to find Joker. He regretted discovering him. Something ate at his insides. It was as if Bruce was losing himself to rot.

He pushed through the crowd. No one paid him any attention. All he could picture was Joker with his hand down that man’s pants. That slow smirk when he realized Bruce was there.

The bouncer watched as Bruce opened the door to the outside world. He stepped out into the chilly air. The rain was still pouring.

He yanked the mask off his face and tossed it onto the ground. Then, Bruce set off down the street out of the underbelly of Gotham City.


	22. Chapter 22

In Bruce’s dream, he was in the bar. It was on fire, yet the flames didn’t seem to harm him. All around were charred and burnt corpses. Their masks had melted on their faces. On the stage sat a man with a bullet hole in between his eyes. He was choking on his blood. Bruce was trying to get to him.

Before he could reach the stage, however, something caught his attention. Glancing to the right, he saw Joker darting down a hallway. Forgetting the man, Bruce went after him. The floor was vibrating underneath his feet and the flames were growing wilder by the second. Down the hallway he went although it stretched and snapped around him. It was growing difficult to breathe.

At the end of the hallway was Joker. He pressed a man against the wall. The flames were licking the man’s back; he was clearly in anguish, yet Joker didn’t seem to care. He stared at Bruce as he ran his fingers down the man’s sides. When he smiled, his teeth were razor sharp. He brought his mouth to the man’s neck and tore a piece of flesh off with his teeth –

Bruce awoke in a cold sweat, tangled in the sheets. His heart was racing and for a split second, he thought he was in danger. Sitting up, he looked around the room. But Bruce was alone. It was raining and the soft patter of the droplets was the only noise he heard.

He rubbed his hands across his face. Not for the first time did he wonder what was wrong with him. The nightmares had grown increasingly vivid as of late. It made sleep, which was normally difficult, almost impossible.

Bruce listened to the rain before getting out of bed and padding over to the window. He peered through the glass, trying to slow his heart rate. When was the last time he slept through the entire night? A thousand years ago. Before Joker appeared, surely.

At the thought of Joker, his heart constricted, and chest tightened. No matter what he tried to do, no matter how many meetings he took at Wayne Corp, or patrols he did as Batman, Bruce could not erase the night a week ago. Seeing Joker touching the man like that and the way Bruce had left so suddenly…it was as if he was losing sight of himself. He was unmoored. It didn’t help that he hadn’t heard from Joker since. Had tormenting him lost his interest? Perhaps Joker found it more fun not knowing his identity. If Bruce didn’t hear from him again, wouldn’t that be a good thing?

The fact was up until that moment, Bruce had never thought about Joker being a man who had needs. The idea of the clown prince of crime seeking out any sort of physical attention or wanting to touch someone in that way was a foreign idea to Bruce. It wasn’t as if he made a habit out of wondering what the criminals he interacted with did in their free time. But now that he had seen Joker touch a man that way it had somehow become the only thing he thought about. What did Joker like? What did he do to the men he touched? Did he sleep with them? Why did Bruce care?

It was the caring that drove him mental. He didn’t want to think about these things. He didn’t want to think about how he felt ditched at the bar. He didn’t want to dwell on every small interaction with Joker that came off…too personal. Too close. _He’s a monster,_ Bruce thought at the same time he heard Joker’s voice in his head going, _we’re two sides of the same coin._

_If he’s a monster, so am I,_ came the thought unbidden. He had killed Joker in the tunnels after all. Yes, he had saved him. Yes, he was learning that saving Joker was what made them different. But if Bruce could snap and kill as Batman, did that make him ultimately any better than Joker?

The clock said four in the morning. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to go back to sleep.

Better to get an early start.

*

The Gotham City Museum opened at nine. Bruce was there at 9:01. He had been organizing and working on a large donation to the museum and it was supposed to be finalized this morning. Running on little sleep, already on his second coffee, Bruce was ready to sign the paperwork. He arrived too early, however, and was stuck waiting.

The museum director’s assistant was a woman named Alice. Dressed in a grey suit, with her brown hair in a high ponytail, she was a bit too talkative for his taste so early in the morning and on so little sleep. Now, it was just the two of them.

Alice was fresh faced and a ball of energy as she poured Bruce a cup of coffee – his third, although he didn’t tell her that. “Mr. Wayne, it’s such an honor to meet you. Especially after what you have gone through.” She gave a small shake of her head. “It’s horrible that that madman runs around the city like that. I wish Batman could stop him.”

_Me too,_ he thought but only replied with, “Yes, I got lucky that I managed to get away from him.”

She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. The gesture reminded him of Joker, and he hated it. Alice lowered her voice, “And I don’t believe what they’re saying about you. Online, I mean.”

Bruce didn’t know what she meant. He didn’t spend a lot of time online. His social media profiles were strictly professional, and he had an assistant run them. It must have shown on his face because she looked apologetic.

“You know, they say that Joker let you go in exchange for you working for him. That you’re a team now. It’s insane, of course!” She held her hands up innocently. “And I know that isn’t true. You do so much for the city. Who could believe such a thing?” She smiled at him. The smile was warm and charming. Bruce knew she was interested in him.

Alice turned around on her heels and slowly walked back to her desk, swinging her hips a little. But Bruce was lost in thought.

He supposed it made sense to have that theory buzzing around. As far as the public was concerned, Bruce Wayne had been kidnapped and randomly released by the Joker. Dropped off at his house. The only injury was a swollen lip and a sprained ankle. Bruce had done one press conference to let people see he been released and never spoke on it again. On top of that, Joker had a history of corrupting Gotham officials and bigwigs through violence or blackmail. _He’s blackmailing me, isn’t he?_ Bruce was uncomfortable in how close the theory could be true. The bank explosion…he should have left Joker for the police. But instead, he got him out of there. He kept telling himself that he would stop Joker once he got the Batman confession but how long would that take? How long could he keep doing this?

“Mr. Wayne, they are ready for you.” Alice chimed up.

“Thank you.” He said stiffly, standing up, leaving his coffee behind.

Alice led him down a hallway towards the meeting room. She was talking about the museum, but he found it difficult to focus. Flashes of Joker danced across his mind: on top of Bruce in the white button up as he brought the knife down, in the tub, the sweater riding up to show his stomach, his hand down the front of the man’s pants. Guilt ate away at him.

“Here we are.” Alice said, stopping in front of a closed door.

“Thank you, Alice.” Bruce said, making a split-second decision, “Excuse me if I’m out of turn but would you want to get a drink tonight?”

Her eyes widened in surprise but very quickly she nodded, “Yes, I’d love that!”

“Great.” Bruce said, the tension in his chest easing a little. “That’s great.”

*

Later that night, Bruce sat down across from Alice. She was wearing a silver dress with a black cardigan, her hair still up in the high ponytail. He complimented her accordingly as the waiter came by for their drink orders.

Alice looked around. “This place is really busy.” She remarked.

She wasn’t wrong. Bruce had taken her to a place in downtown Gotham that was currently the most popular bar in the city. It was almost impossible to get a table. Paparazzi were out front all the time because of the celebrity clientele. People sneakily took pictures of patrons for social media. Bruce knew in about twenty minutes Joker would be aware of what he was doing. _And so what?_ He thought.

“Yes, but the atmosphere is great.” He replied. “I hope you don’t mind your picture in the paper though.”

“Or all over social media.” She noted as someone slyly took her photo.

Their drinks arrived. Bruce wondered if Joker knew already. He could just not care Bruce was on a date. Why would he care? God, could he stop thinking about Joker for five seconds and focus on what was going on around him?

Bruce made small talk with Alice. Asked her the stuff he was supposed to – where was she from, when did she come here, her interests. He made the proper noises when he needed to, told anecdotes about himself when pressed. But the entire time, Bruce made a note of every glance towards them, every whisper, every photo. _He’ll find out,_ he kept thinking no matter how much he told himself to stop.

_But will he care?_

*

Bruce soared over Gotham City. It was almost midnight and he was running out of time. The city was spread beneath his feet, yet he only had one mission in mind. One task to accomplish. The same goal he had for three years: stop Joker.

_This is my fault,_ he thought for the millionth time since he received the message thirty minutes ago. The message had been unceremoniously thrown through one of the front windows of Wayne Manor. The Joker card had been attached to a rock written in shaky handwriting:

_“I have your girlfriend. Midnight. The top of Avenue Apartments.”_

The apartment complex was forty stories up, one of the tallest complexes in the city. Bruce was cutting it close, but he thought he could arrive in time. Before Joker hurt Alice.

_My fault, my fault,_ the words beat along with his heart. It was just last night he had taken Alice out for drinks. By morning, it was plastered on every tabloid and on every website. The Joker card contained Bruce’s answer: yes, he had noticed and yes, he cared.

But Bruce thought if Joker were bothered, it would have blown back on him. He hadn’t thought…no, hadn’t even considered Alice in all of this…that was what made it sting.

The apartments were in sight now. Bruce grappled over to it, landing softly on the roof. He could see a figure hanging off the side of the building. It wasn’t moving. He turned on his heat sensor. The figure must be Alice. The heat rolling off her showed she was still alive. He couldn’t find Joker anywhere. The entire thing reeked of a trap. One wrong move and she could be dropped off the building. Her steady breathing indicated she was unconscious. A small blessing.

Bruce tried to think of how to approach this. Joker was clearly furious. Why? Because he had gone out drinking with someone else. Because Joker viewed Bruce as belonging to him. He would want a confrontation, to dangle Alice literally in front of him as he spoke.

With that in mind, Bruce moved away from the shadows. “I’m here, Joker.” He called out. There was thunder in the distance. He felt Joker before he heard him, turning around.

Joker was coming out of the shadows, a gun in one hand, limp evident. He was wearing purple dress pants and a green button up shirt with a matching tie. His hair was unkempt and makeup messy, lipstick smeared onto his chin and cheeks, the white paint on the collar of the shirt. There was white face paint all over his gloves as well, Bruce noticed. His energy was wild, dangerous and he needed to stay on guard.

“Bats,” Joker growled, his voice low and taunt like a wire, “You just made it. I knew you would. You wouldn’t want an innocent to die.”

“Joker, let her go.”

“Let her go? I wanted to kill her myself. When I took her, she started crying immediately. Wouldn’t stop _crying._ It was so _annoying!_ ” He shouted the last word before dropping his voice back down. “But no, I told myself to wait. I wanted you here, Bats.”

Joker slowly moved past Bruce. He didn’t go towards Alice. Instead he walked to the opposite side of her. Now that Bruce had come closer, he could see Alice dangled from some sort of crane. She had chains around her wrists and legs that was connected by one large chain, going all the way up to the top of the crane.

“You know, when I dragged her here, she kept yammering on and on and _on_ about how she could deliver Bruce Wayne to me. I said I didn’t want Bruce Wayne. Did you a favor there, Bats. Anyway, she said that must mean Bruce and I were working together. I finally snapped and asked her if that Bruce and I were working together, why would I be _getting ready to murder her_?” Joker stopped walking, turned to face him. “Why would I kill your girlfriend?”

“She isn’t my girlfriend.” Bruce said, thinking how juvenile of a sentence that was for such a dire situation. “She didn’t do anything wrong. Just let her go.”

“It pisses me off how you just don’t see, Bats! It’s all right in front of you yet you refuse to accept it! You don’t want to admit how similar we are or how close we are! You make me drag you every fucking step of the way!” Joker was shouting again, waving the gun around wildly. “If you’re going to make me force it, then I’ll force it!”

Joker brought the gun underneath his chin, pressing the barrel against his skin. Bruce’s heart stopped. His finger was resting on the trigger. His face cracked into a smile; eyes as wild as the fires in the subway tunnel.

“Stop, just –”

“You can’t have both worlds, Bats!”

With those words, Joker dropped the gun away from his chin and fired to his side. It struck the top of the crane, releasing Alice to fall. At the same time, similar to the moment in the clock tower, Joker flung himself backwards off the building.

Bruce took off towards Joker, leaping off the building a few seconds after him. He could hear Joker’s cackle through the wind as they toppled down to the pavement forty stories below. He didn’t have much time. As he looked down at Joker, he could see the wind whipping around his clothes, a flash of teeth as he laughed, hands still gripping the gun.

Bruce struck him midair and grabbed his waist, holding Joker against him. He then took his grappling hook and quickly connected it to a smaller building across the street. It launched him in the direction of Alice.

He had spent too much time getting to Joker. As the stories fell, Alice had awoken and was shrieking at the top of her lungs. Her face was a sheet of terror. The ground was rushing up to meet them. He thought he was too late.

Bruce slammed into her and swung over to the smaller building, toppling onto the roof. Alice skittered away, rolling across the roof, her chains making a clanging noise. Bruce landed on top of Joker who was still laughing underneath him.

Bruce brought his fist up and decked Joker across the face. His lip, which had almost healed, split again, blood oozing out. Joker didn’t seem to care. He wouldn’t stop laughing. Bruce got off him, hurrying over to Alice. In the distance there were sirens and thunder. A wind had kicked up.

Alice was sobbing, words gibberish, as Bruce looked at the chains. They were flimsy things and he shattered them easily, freeing her. She didn’t get to her feet, merely curled up in a ball and cried. Sirens grew louder. Someone must have noticed what was going on, heard or saw something and called the GCPD.

Bruce crouched next to Alice. “You’re safe,” He told her, “You’re alright.”

“I wanna go home.” She bawled.

“The police are coming.” He said, gently scooping her up in his arms and leaping off the roof onto another building below.

They landed on top of a closed clothing store. Bruce leapt off the roof and put Alice down on the ground in front of the shop. The police would find her here. He could still hear Joker laughing. The rage bubbled and brewed inside him.

“You’re safe.” He repeated to her.

She had stopped crying, wiped her eyes, stared distantly out down the street. Another thunderclap. The flashing lights of police cars appeared. Bruce was out of time.

He returned to the top of the roof. Joker had fallen silent. He was sitting up now, legs crossed, one gloved hand propping up his chin, a wide grin on his face. Bruce looked down at him.

“This is over, Joker.”

“Is it?” He looked so pleased and happy as if he hadn’t almost killed a woman.

Sirens too close now. Time to go. He raised his fist and brought it down across Joker’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you like my work consider subbing to my patreon!   
> https://www.patreon.com/lylabanks
> 
> you can also buy me a coffee!  
> https://ko-fi.com/ryohazuki


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please note that this chapter is NSFW.

Joker’s head rolled to the side. He was starting to regain consciousness. Bruce was sitting across from him. The storm had kicked up halfway back to Wayne Manor, as he dragged an unconscious Joker with him. The rage burned in his chest and lightning flashed outside the windows of the library. He had told Alfred to stay out of the wing containing his rooms tonight. The concern on Alfred’s face was apparent but Bruce wanted no part of it. He didn’t want anyone to be around tonight.

No, this was for Joker and him. If one thing was proven tonight, it was that he had been playing by Joker’s rules for too long. Things were out of control. It ended now. He was going to find the location of the Batman confession even if he had to beat it out of him.

Joker blinked, looking bleary eyed. Bruce had handcuffed him to a chair. He picked the library because it was sound resistant to make it quiet for reading. He wasn’t sure how violent things were going to get. A fire roared behind Joker, the only source of light in the room. Bruce didn’t feel like himself tonight. When was the last time he had? Yet now, there was an undercurrent of electricity like a live wire. _If he’s a monster, so am I._

“Bats?” Joker mumbled, trying to move his hands but realizing they were handcuffed behind him. “Bats, what is this?”

“You’re in the library at my house.” Bruce replied coldly even though he burned inside.

“I’m not much of a reader, Bats.” He was still pulling on the handcuffs.

Bruce ignored the remark. “We needed to have a talk.”

Joker stopped then. Maybe something in his voice caught his attention. The blood on his lip had dried and there was a bruise already forming around his right eye were Bruce had struck to knock him out. He didn’t reply.

“I want to know where the tape is. I want the location of the tape and the backups.”

Joker slumped backwards, looking bored. It was the same look the night of the kidnapping when Bruce offered him money in exchange for letting him go. “I think you’re skirting around the issue here, Bats.”

“I want the location.”

“Did you notice what you did on the rooftop, Bats? Has it clicked yet? I mean, it probably hasn’t. For such a smart man, you are amazingly stupid at noticing things about yourself.”

“Your distractions aren’t going to work. I want the location or it’s going to get violent.”

“Don’t tease me with a good time,” Joker replied, “Although you never will allow yourself to get as violent as I want.” He pouted.

Bruce stood up. The rage was brimming in his chest, an alive creature that was threatening to spill over into his body. He was sick of Joker and sick of feeling powerless. Joker didn’t balk at the sight of him rising.

Instead, he spoke lazily. “Your little girlfriend and I fell off at the roof at the same time. And you went after me first.”

The words brought Bruce up short. Joker pounced.

“You almost let her die. For me. Did you realize that? I forced you into a snap decision and you picked me. Every time, you pick me. You saved me in the subway. Not for your own moral code, not for the reasons you tell yourself late at night. You saved me in the bank explosion. You saved me tonight.”

“Shut up and tell me the location.” Bruce refused to show Joker his words were affecting him.

“No. What are you gonna do, Batsy? Kill me?”

Bruce struck him in the face. Joker grunted with the impact and then rolled his head back, laughing. “Do it again. Do it as many times as you want. It won’t change what we both know. What I’ve been saying from the start.”

“Tell me the location.”

“Admit it. Admit it and I’ll tell you.”

The anger hit Bruce so strongly he could taste it. He raised his foot and slammed it against Joker’s chest. The chair went flying backwards with such impact it cracked. Joker struck the floor, the wind knocked out of him, his hands still handcuffed behind him even though he was now free of the chair. Bruce was on him the next second. His fists grabbed the top of Joker’s shirt, shaking him violently.

“Tell me now!” He shouted, hardly able to control himself. Something inside him was cracking. _Every time, you pick me._ He could see Joker in the bath, Joker pressing him against the bookshelf, Joker looking at him when he rubbed his thumb across his lip.

Joker grinned wickedly. His wild green hair framed his face. His makeup was a mess. His eyes glinted in the firelight. He didn’t seem to feel any pain. “Admit it, Bruce.”

Something about hearing his name from Joker’s lips shattered Bruce like glass. _Every time, you pick me._

Bruce smashed his lips against Joker’s. The touch was like wildfire, ripping through every nerve in his body. All thoughts were eradicated. His hands still gripped Joker’s shirt, holding him like a limp ragdoll barely off the floor. Joker’s mouth opened against his immediately, his tongue in his mouth. The taste of Joker overpowered Bruce.

His hands went from holding the top of Joker’s shirt to the sides of the thin fabric. He tore the shirt, the buttons snapping off and falling to the floor of the library. It hung off Joker’s thin frame, unable to be fully removed because of the handcuffs. The kiss broke as Bruce fumbled for the key in his pocket. He reached around, undid the handcuffs. When they fell off, he leaned down, dragging his lips across Joker’s neck, tugging off the shirt completely. Bruce could feel his heart thrumming underneath his lips.

Joker’s chest was pale like ice. Bruce hadn’t realized how skinny he was until just now, seeing him shirtless like this. It drove home the image of some sort of fallen angel like back in the clock tower. Bruce ran his hands down his chest, his head swimming. The storm raged outside the library. The wind tossed the rain against the windows.

Bruce wasn’t thinking. The voice that had been growing quieter each interaction with Joker had gone silent. He was acting on something much baser now. Primal. Joker leaned forward and their lips met again. As they kissed, he pushed Bruce down against the carpet. His hands grabbed the bottom of his shirt and pulled it up to expose his chest. Joker’s lipstick was smearing against his lips, down his neck, along his chest. Joker kissed him along his skin, leaving a trail of red. The sight of it thrilled Bruce for reasons he didn’t quite understand.

He couldn’t believe how hard he was. His cock strained against the confines of his pants. He couldn’t remember ever being this out of his mind before. Each kiss drove Bruce crazier. He needed more. The firelight bathed the two of them in familiar lighting. But this time, the only danger was from how far Bruce was going to take it.

He wanted Joker to touch him like he had seen in the bar. But Joker’s hands hovered by his belt. Joker tilted his face to look up. His long lashes were dark smears against white makeup. In his eyes, Bruce could see the reflection of his own lust.

“You have to admit it first,” Joker whispered in a voice that danced across Bruce’s spine, bounced around his brain. “Then I’ll give you more.”

All his resolutions and plans crumbled. The location of the tapes was no longer on his mind. All Bruce wanted was Joker to touch him.

“I want you.” He said hoarsely, cheeks burning.

Joker began to remove Bruce’s belt. His long slender gloved fingers were mesmerizing. “We’ve been circling each other from the start. Either to kill each other or,” He yanked the belt off, “Fuck each other.”

Chest tight, Bruce managed to ask, “Are you going to fuck me?”

A slow, easy smile broke out across Joker’s face as he undid the button on Bruce’s pants. “Oh, I’m going to fuck you. Have you ever been with a man before, Bruce?”

He shook his head, suddenly embarrassed. It was strange to feel vulnerable around Joker. “But you have.”

“Yes, I have,” He tugged down on Bruce’s pants, exposing his boxers and how stiff he was, “But I’ve only ever wanted you.”

Joker sat up on his knees then. His chest soaked up the firelight, made him look as if he was glowing. He was lowering his own pants now, the top of his hips exposed. Bruce found it difficult to wrap his head around what was occurring, what he was about to do.

“Lower your pants and boxers, turn around and get on all fours.” Joker commanded in a tone Bruce had heard before – usually involving a gun and some sort of violence.

Face so red Bruce knew he must look stupid, he obeyed. He turned around, getting on all fours, his pants and boxers down around his knees. He still wore his shirt, making it feel even dirtier to be doing this half-dressed. A couple seconds later, he felt Joker’s gloved hands on his hips. He closed his eyes, wondering faintly about what he was about to do. But the fear gave away to desire – he wanted to go all the way, no hesitation.

Joker’s hands moved from his hips to squeeze his ass. Each touch made his head light. He was rock hard, unable to process any cohesive thoughts.

“This is going to hurt.”

“Like when you stabbed me?” Bruce retorted.

“Maybe it won’t hurt as bad as that.” He quipped back.

Even so, Bruce closed his eyes. He heard Joker spit, covering his cock in it to get it wet to enter him. There was a massive clap of thunder and the white of the lightning flashed against his eyelids. The tip of Joker’s cock pressed against him. He was sure if he didn’t want it so badly, he was supposed to work his way up to this, take it slowly. But he didn’t want to wait. He wanted to go all the way now, tonight.

Bruce was unsure if Joker was going to ram himself inside to cause as much pain as possible. He wouldn’t have been surprised for some sadistic side to come out. But he moved quite slowly and patiently as if they had all the time in the world. It felt uncomfortable and a bit strange at first as his cock began to enter Bruce. He could feel himself being stretched out. Lowering his head to the carpet, he focused on his breathing. He had a high pain tolerance and had been through much worse than this.

He could hear Joker’s breath hitch as he pushed himself deeper. Bruce gripped the carpet, unintentionally wiggling his hips as the pressure increased. Joker let out a small grunt when he did. Bruce found that he liked the noise of Joker experiencing pleasure; it was different, somehow raw and strange but addicting. He moved his hips again.

“Are you trying to make me cum already?” Joker asked. With secret pleasure, Bruce noted how strained his voice was.

“I’d expect you to last longer than that.”

“Now you’re just teasing me, Bruce.” Joker had gone still, now fully inside him. Bruce felt weirdly stuffed. It hurt but he found that he liked the pain.

He began to slowly move inside Bruce. Joker’s hands gripped his waist, fingers digging in his skin as he moved. Bruce’s eyes were still closed. He could picture how Joker must look: shirtless with his pants pulled down just enough so he could fuck him. He almost wished he could see it. But he wouldn’t give up what was happening for that.

Joker began to pick up the pace. His thrusts grew harder, mixing pain and pleasure together for Bruce. He could hear Joker’s ragged breathing as he fucked him. For some reason, it was a turn on.

“Move your hips back against me.” Joker ordered, voice scratchy.

Bruce obeyed, trying to time his movements with his thrusts. Joker let out a groan when he did so which spurned Bruce on more.

After a few minutes of this, Joker leaned forward, curling his body against his. One hand grabbed Bruce’s hair and yanked his head back hard. Joker’s lips were against his ear as he fucked him harder. The position reminded him of back in the park after the bank explosion.

“Do you remember the last time we were like this?” He growled.

“Y-yes.” Bruce managed to reply.

Joker thrust hard, fingers digging in his hair. “You said the only thing you feel for me is disgust.”

He remembered. Another hard thrust. Bruce jerked forward.

“What do you feel now?” His voice was low.

He released the grip on Bruce’s hair, straightened up and thrusted hard. It stung, Bruce winced but Joker let out a low moan. He was cumming, Bruce realized, and it thrilled him in a way it shouldn’t. He could feel Joker emptying inside him. He was breathing hard and ragged as he climaxed.

Then he pulled out of him. Bruce was still rock hard, craving relief, unsure if Joker was going to give him any. He was about to move when Joker’s hand reached around and began to stroke Bruce’s cock.

The touch was electric. Bruce gasped. Even though Joker still had his gloves on, knowing it was _him_ made it feel even better. His hand pumped his cock expertly and in mere seconds, Bruce was cumming. He groaned as he did, the pleasure wiping out everything else.

He slumped against the carpet afterwards. Head light, body feeling like it weighed a thousand pounds. He couldn’t move even if he wanted to.

Joker slinked up next to him, trailing his fingers up along his back. Bruce wanted to speak, to ask what the hell were they going to do now. But sleep was tugging on him. Even so, he still had to answer Joker’s earlier question.

“Pleasure,” He mumbled, “I feel pleasure.”

When Joker spoke up, he also sounded hazy. “What else, Bruce?”

But the urge to get some rest proved to be too strong. Before he could reply, the tide crashed in, the storm quieted outside, and Bruce fell asleep next to the clown prince of crime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you like my work consider subbing to my patreon!  
> https://www.patreon.com/lylabanks
> 
> you can also buy me a coffee!  
> https://ko-fi.com/ryohazuki


	24. Chapter 24

Bruce came out of sleep slowly, almost lazily. His mind was peacefully blank for once. He had slept through the night. It was some sort of miracle.

The first thing he noticed was how well rested he felt. He couldn’t recall the last time he experienced that. The next thing he noticed was he felt cold. Cracking one eye open, he found himself staring at the fireplace. The fire had long since gone out. Sunlight poured in through the windows; the storm from last night must have cleared. His body was a little sore –

The memories hit him then like a train. Joker. Kissing him. Touching. He…

The peaceful feeling was gone, replaced with guilt, shame, horror. Bruce sat up, looking around the room. Joker was gone. The window was flung open. Snow was falling outside. He must have left through there. Bruce fumbled with his pants, tugging them up, embarrassed. Jesus Christ, had he really – what the hell – he lost his mind. To sleep with the Joker!

His chest was so tight that he couldn’t breathe. He let out a strangled gasp, trying to stop the tidal wave of feelings striking him. He had _wanted it_. That was the worst part. He had given into Joker, wanted him physically – God, wasn’t that what they had been dancing towards since his identity had been revealed?

It was the truth staring him in the face now in the harsh daylight that made him want to shrink in a ball and vanish. All the times he had looked at Joker in a way he shouldn’t. Admired him without realizing it. Went on a date to make him jealous.

But Joker had known all along, hadn’t he? It was obvious in the things he said and did. Bruce couldn’t admit it to himself until…until last night when he had picked Joker over Alice.

He rubbed his face, anguished. How could this be possible? Joker was a horrible person – a murderer. To feel anything other than disgust towards him…to feel lust, longing…He thought about when Joker announced he had discovered Bruce’s identity. Bruce recalled the relief he experienced deep down. At first, he had excused it as not having to keep up any more pretense because he was so tired from the kidnapping. But now he understood what it really was, something he never would have been able to admit to himself until now: he had wanted Joker to know Batman was him. He was relieved Joker knew…because he wanted Joker to see more of him.

Bruce no longer felt connected to his normal sense of self. If he could have these feelings for someone like the Joker, what did that say about him? It wasn’t as if he hated last night – no, it had been pleasurable, intense and amazing.

But Joker was a murderer who had done horrible things to the city of Gotham and Bruce himself. What did it say about him to have feelings for someone like that?

He lowered his hands, noticing something in front of the fireplace. The handcuffs. He leaned forward and plucked them out of the wreckage of the chair. Something fell off them. A page ripped from a book. The printed font read _Anna Karenina._ Underneath in familiar shaky handwriting was an address and the word midnight. It echoed the note from last night – God, was it really only last night? – but had a much different meaning.

Bruce stared at it for a long moment. Joker had taken time to leave this before he left. He told himself to ignore it. Burn it. Never speak of this again. No, never think of it again.

But he knew there was no running from what happened last night. It wasn’t something he could sweep under the rug and forget. Joker was involved. He would have thoughts and feelings on what happened. Gleeful ones, probably. What if he hung it over Bruce’s head? There were already all those theories he was working with Joker. Now they had slept together. The lines were beyond blurred. They were gone, washed away.

_I want to see him,_ the thought came unbidden, but he realized that was the truth. Deep down, underneath the guilt and shame, Bruce knew he would go.

That somehow made it worse.

*

The snow covered everything like a heavy blanket. When Bruce walked down the street, he left a trail of deep shoeprints. The temperature was dropping rapidly, and the news was whispering of a blizzard.

Yet none of that was on his mind. The only thing he was thinking about was the fact Joker was going to be at the address nearby. Paranoid about getting any attention, Bruce had parked in a nondescript car two blocks away and opted to walk. He was bundled up in a jacket with a scarf and gloves yet still the cold seemed to seep into his bones.

The address was along a block of apartment buildings. None of them were special. It wasn’t a bad area, just entirely forgettable. Bruce doublechecked the address as he came to a stop in front of an apartment building. This was it. He swallowed hard. He couldn’t believe he was doing this. This was his last chance to turn around and…what? Bruce knew he couldn’t avoid Joker forever. There was no taking back the fact they had slept together.

He stepped inside the foyer. It was a little run down but otherwise unremarkable. The heat worked because Bruce could feel it instantly. Joker was apparently on the third floor. The elevator was out of service.

Bruce walked, thinking about when he had gone up the clock tower to meet Joker. That meeting ended up with him being stabbed. But it showed something else now too. That night, he was fixated on how Joker looked, the feeling of when he was on top of Bruce’s body, how intense it had been…the pieces were clicking into place and it scared him.

A few minutes later, Bruce stopped in front of the apartment that Joker was leading him to. He was nervous and filled with guilt and excitement.

He exhaled slowly and knocked on the door.

When Joker opened it a few seconds later, Bruce marveled at how surreal it all felt. It was as if he was knocking on a regular person’s door, wanting to see them, rather than the clown prince of crime.

Joker was wearing Bruce’s sweater from the night of the tub. His pants didn’t match – they were a dark purple, the same shade as his gloves. His makeup and white paint had been carefully applied this time around. There was almost lovingly attention to detail with how he had applied the blood red lipstick. His hair was a little messy, surrounding his face like a frame of a painting.

Bruce immediately was awkward, unsure of what to say. Joker moved to the side, allowing him to step inside. Bruce looked around. It was a garishly decorated living room. None of the furniture matched – some were leather, some regular fabric, a chair looked as if it was made from velvet. A large map of Gotham hung on one wall with tons of markings all in different colors. Various books were strewn about the floor. For every one normal light, there were about five neon ones on. All the tables were different designs as well. _Looks like a funhouse,_ Bruce thought. He could see the kitchen, but it appeared to be untouched. It looked as if Joker had never stepped in it. The chaos was strictly in the living room.

Joker moved in front of him, clasping his hands together. His eyes were wide, twinkling in a way that left Bruce unnerved. “C’mon, say it.”

“We need to talk.”

He broke out into a grin, the kind that split his face in half. “There it is!” Clapping his hands, he let out a laugh that made the hair on the back of Bruce’s neck stand up. “You’re so predictable, Bats. Feeling regret over last night? Shame? Thinking ‘how could I sleep with a man like that? I’m Batman! I’m good!’” His laughter grew. “A moral conundrum like no other for the billionaire bat.”

Bruce’s anxiety was peaking. It was a strange feeling and not one he was used to. His chest was tight, and the walls of Joker’s strange apartment were closing in. Was this his house? No, Joker was not the type that had a regular residence. Another hideaway? Most likely. The way he was grinning at him made him think about the subway tunnels – the grin on his face in front of all the bodies and fire – the way his lips pressed against his – limp body falling onto the ground – the suffocating feeling being shoved in the van with the hostages –

When he didn’t reply right away, Joker frowned. “Bats, this isn’t as fun if you don’t bicker back.”

“I -…” His voice cut off, it was impossible to breathe – had Joker put something in the air? Was he being affected by something? Bruce took a step backwards and his hip struck a table. A large crystal that had been arbitrarily placed there fell off and hit the floor, cracking in half. The sound made him jump.

Joker reached out but Bruce shrugged him off, his vision narrowing. “D-don’t touch me.”

“Bruce,” he sounded very far away, “You’re having a panic attack.”

“W-what?” He mumbled, realizing just how hard and fast he was breathing.

Joker repeated it but didn’t reach out for him again. Instead, he motioned to the couch. Bruce stumbled forward and sat down near the edge, trying not to scream. From all sides, his body sent off alerts that he was being attacked or something bad was going to happen. But logically, Bruce knew there was nothing of the sort occurring. Even so, his fingers dug into the cushions of the couch and his chest felt as if someone was sitting on it.

Joker came back and handed him something. It was a water in a mug that said World’s Best Dad. Then, he sat down on the opposite side of the couch, giving Bruce space.

“You should try to focus on your breathing,” Joker told him in a voice devoid of emotion, almost clinical, “And sip on the water.” He flopped back, bringing his long legs up to rest on the coffee table.

In front of the table was a broken tv. The screen still had a hammer shoved in it. Beneath the broken tv there was another one, also broken. It looked as if the front of it had been kicked in. Bruce took a sip of the water, tried to wrangle his breathing under control. He was starting to feel embarrassed; he had never experienced a panic attack before and to have one in front of the Joker meant it was just another side of him exposed to someone terrifying.

He glanced at Joker out of the corner of his eye. Joker was looking at him, made a drinking motion. “You have to finish the water.”

Bruce turned his attention to the water, focusing on how it tasted, swishing it around in his mouth. By the time he finished, his breathing was steady although his chest still was wrapped in barbed wire. He placed the mug gingerly down on the coffee table (which was an ornate marble monstrosity that Bruce was pretty sure he had seen at someone’s house before although he couldn’t recall who…it screamed old money.) and shifted to face Joker.

“Thanks.” He mumbled.

Joker tilted his face back almost lazily to peer at Bruce. “That your first time with one of those, Batsy?”

“Yes,” He admitted.

“You’ll get used to it.” His voice was still devoid of emotion, but Bruce picked up on something new – a glimpse of truth underneath the words, a sentence that seemingly revealed something personal Joker had experienced first-hand.

Bruce didn’t want to push it. He didn’t want Joker to clam up. Instead, he filed the tiny tidbit of information away. It was something no one knew but him.

“I don’t know what brought that on.”

“The horror at having sleeping with me.”

Bruce studied Joker’s face. He looked solemn, almost irritated. It couldn’t be about the panic attack because he helped. He must have truly thought it had been triggered by the fact they slept together. _Are his feelings hurt?_ That couldn’t be possible. Someone like Joker didn’t have real feelings. He had never given any indication of true emotions before…right?

He struggled with what to say next. Bruce knew he was walking a tightrope. “No. No, I’ve just been overwhelmed. There’s been so much going on.” The words sounded lame to his ears as if he was going to break up with a girl after two weeks of dating. Inwardly, he cringed.

Joker turned to look at him directly now. As he stared back, Bruce realized he was studying Joker’s face, admiring it, in a way he had always done and yet never notice. The curve of his jaw, the sharp cheekbones, his hair – so many times Bruce noticed these things, always mentally making a note of how his makeup looked, what he was wearing, the energy he gave off. _I’ve done that since the first time we met,_ he realized with a jolt.

“You sound like a banker explaining to his wife why he hasn’t been around when the truth is he’s been fucking the babysitter.” Joker replied curtly.

Bruce ran his fingers through his hair, sighing. “I didn’t have the panic attack because we slept together, okay? But you need to look at the situation and realize how insane it is. You and I…can’t be doing this. We can’t be doing those things together. The fact I’m sitting here talking to you instead of taking you to Arkham is bad. What we did was wrong.”

Joker shifted his body so he was leaning forward, far closer that Bruce would have liked. The close proximity to him, that scent of cinnamon – his head already was light.

“But it felt good, Bats. You and I both know it did.”

“It did. But we can’t do it again.” Bruce’s voice was like steel but inwardly, he was starting to feel more like glass.

Joker moved closer and Bruce tried to move back. But Joker was slinking along the couch like a snake in the grass and he was paralyzed.

“How can something that felt so good be wrong?”

“This isn’t going to work.” Bruce’s heart was slamming against his rib cage and his throat was dry.

“Then stop me, Bruce.”

Joker’s lips pressed against his. Like last time, the touch was electric, rolling through him with such an intensity his head swirled. He should stop this – no, he needed to stop this – Joker was a murderer who had done horrible things – but his brain couldn’t seem to work in conjunction with his body. _What did I think was going to happen when I showed up here?_ He thought distantly.

Joker pressed Bruce down onto the couch, his body against him, and even though it was wrong and even though he knew better, Bruce’s will crumbled and he submitted. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just wanted to let everyone know that i finished writing this fic way ahead of time so you don't need to worry about it randomly stopping updates or being left unfinished. :)


	25. Chapter 25

_“It’s my form of charity!”_

_The man on the stage threw his arms apart, gesturing to the chaos that surrounded the stage. The dead bodies piled up. The gun in his one hand. The way the mismatched dress caught the light._

_“All they have to do is pay me and I won’t kill them!”_

_Bruce was repulsed. Out of all the criminals he had taken down, the man who was now calling himself the Joker might be the worst. There was nothing but senseless slaughter. He didn’t even take the money the people had given him, instead tossing it out the window to the streets below._

_“Judging by your suit, I’ll assume you must be the big bad Batman I’ve heard so much about!” The man named Joker shouted. “Unsure how I’m the weird one here when you’re the one dressed up in a silly costume, but I think there must be something in the water, right?” He laughed, a low rolling cackle that sounded completely unnatural._

_Before Bruce could act, Joker suddenly pulled the trigger. The bullet struck one of the hostages directly in the head and they slumped to the side._

_“Oops! Geez, Bats, you’re distracting me with your silly get up!”_

_This man was disgusting. A vile creature that had decided to show up in Gotham. Bruce was going to put a stop to him tonight._

*

At some point, they had moved from the couch to the bedroom. The bed was too large for the small room, clearly taken elsewhere and plopped in the apartment. But Bruce didn’t mind – he found he liked the extra space. He lost all track of time. It was well past midnight when they finally came up for air.

Bruce was dozing, his head resting against Joker’s chest. He could hear his heartbeat. For once, Joker’s skin wasn’t cold. From everything they had been doing, his skin was warm against Bruce’s. He found that he liked it. The bed, wherever Joker had stolen it from, was more comfortable than the one he owned. He wished he could stay here forever and sleep for as long as he wanted.

Joker’s gloved fingertips trailed down Bruce’s back. Even though they were fully naked, he had yet to remove the gloves. Bruce didn’t press it. He always got the feeling the gloves remained on due to something personal. He wasn’t foolish enough to try to find out why. Joker would either lie or get angry.

Joker’s body was pale and lithe, slender limbs and a thin body. Bruce had spent the night exploring it, giving in to every wrong desire he had. There were no marks on Joker – no tattoos, no scars, nothing marked on that cold skin of his. Compared to Bruce, whose body was quickly getting its own collection of scars, including the one healing from Joker’s recent stabbing. He liked the difference between them. Joker’s scars were all mental.

Joker’s touch was light, barely touching his skin. Each finger brushed against his back, making Bruce’s scalp tingle. The voice that would shout all the bad things Joker ever did was silent in this moment. The panic attack felt like a lifetime ago. He was a little sore from Joker entering him so much the past twenty-four hours but he didn’t care about that either. Miraculously, Bruce didn’t care about anything right now. 

“Do you hear that?” Joker whispered.

Bruce grunted, still fighting off sleep.

“It’s raining.”

He realized Joker was right. The soft sound of rain against the window was evident. It made the room cozier. Bruce never wanted to leave. Let him stay in this moment forever, no matter how wrong it was, no matter that he was having this moment with the Joker, of all people.

“The first night I came to Gotham, it was raining.”

The words were whispered but still woke Bruce up. Tilting his face upwards to look at Joker, he wondered if this was some lie about to topple from his lips. _If I start believing what he is saying, then where will I be?_ For so long, Bruce took comfort in the knowledge that no matter what Joker said, it wasn’t true. It helped him navigate every interaction.

But that was before they slept together. Before things had gotten so messy.

He decided not to speak, allow Joker to say whatever was in his head.

“This was back when the trains still worked.” He said.

The trains had been shut down for six years now. Yet another thing Bruce had on his list to get back up and running. Even though most people opted to fly, the trains offered lower cost of traveling and back when they worked, they were a good alternative to flying. But the company went under, filed for bankruptcy, and left the trains as yet another rotting corpse on Gotham.

If Joker was telling the truth, this meant he was in Gotham City for three years before revealing himself to Bruce the night of the charity ball. Bruce had always assumed that Joker appeared like a nightmare one day, spit up by the worst of Gotham like some sort of monster. The idea of him walking around the city for three years undiscovered left him feeling…well, he wasn’t sure.

“I had very little money. I spent most of it on the train ticket. When I got here, the rain wouldn’t stop pouring. Soaked through my clothes.” Joker’s voice was detached once more, reciting something from memory as if he was reading a book. “I was freezing cold. The city was a sprawling, disgusting thing. But I didn’t mind. Because I had gotten away from where I was running from.”

Bruce still asked, “What were you running from?” even though he knew not to expect any sort of truth.

Joker shifted slightly but didn’t reply. Bruce didn’t push it. Together, they listened to the rain falling. It began to lull him to sleep again. His eyes grew heavy. He wanted to stay awake but couldn’t fight it. When this night ended, it would be back to the mental anguish of debating what to do, back to mentally beating himself up for what he was doing. Right now, in this moment, it was just him with Joker, the outside world muted.

But Bruce fell asleep, listening to the Joker’s steady heartbeat and the soft sound of rain.

*

_Joker darted across the roof. He was quick and nimble, his long legs propelling him forward as Bruce went after him. The entire time Joker ran, an awful cackle trailed behind him. A storm was in the distance, illuminating the sky with lightning. Even though he was running in a dress, it didn’t seem to slow Joker down at all. The edges of the dress were now ripped and dirty from the chase. The gun glinted in Joker’s hand._

_But his luck had run out. The roof ended and there was nowhere else to go. Joker stopped running, turning around to face Bruce._

_“Nowhere to go.” Bruce declared, getting ready to take him down._

_Joker grinned. It was a wild grin, cracking his face in half, his white neatly straight teeth flashing in the darkness. “I think I like you, Batsy! You’re the most interesting person I’ve met since I got here!”_

_“I’m taking you in.”_

_He let out a wild laugh, throwing his head back for a moment. “No, not yet,” Joker rolled his head forward, his voice dropping, “But don’t worry. We’ll see each other again soon. I think we’re going to become good friends.”_

_Joker threw something down in front of him. Smoke and confetti exploded out of whatever he had tossed. It must have been hidden in the sleeve of his glove, Bruce thought, blinded for a second. He switched to the heat sensor on his cowl –_

_But he was too late. Joker had somehow vanished. He had no idea where he had gone that quickly._

_Bruce stood there, in a small pile of confetti, wondering what sort of beast was now loose in Gotham._

When Bruce awoke, the sunlight was peeking through the blinds and he was alone. Sitting up, he knew instantly Joker was gone. In the daytime, it was as if the clown prince of crime didn’t exist. He was like a vampire, only coming out of the darkness to prey upon Bruce.

He had slept through the night again. Touching Joker’s pillow, finding it cold, Bruce wondered when he left. Did he look at Bruce before leaving? It would be easy to kill him then, so vulnerable, fast asleep. But Joker left twice now and hadn’t hurt him.

Bruce’s clothes were in the living room. Feeling exposed naked, he made sure no one was in the living room before he went out there. The place was silent. The only noise was from cars passing the building. Collecting his clothes, he changed into them, realizing he was about to do what was usually called The Walk of Shame.

As much as he wanted to leave and try to sort out his brain, Bruce lingered. Without Joker here, he was able to take time to look around. He might not have this chance again…Joker still had the confession tapes somewhere, after all…

A quick rummage around the apartment made it clear Bruce would find nothing hidden. The place seemed to be a dumping grounds for a random assortment of junk Joker had stolen and opted to keep. Another safe house, another dead end.

Bruce looked at the map of Gotham over the couch. It made no sense to him which meant it must make sense to Joker. Lines were drawn everywhere in different colors. Bruce couldn’t decode the meaning. Moving closer to the map, he found the monorail station where he left that fateful night. There was a red circle around it. He tried to trace the way he thought the van had taken him out of the city. Past Gotham, on the outskirts, there was a green X in a neighborhood. _This must be where I was first taken,_ he thought. As he thought, it was a run down, abandoned neighborhood that needed to be knocked down and rebuilt. There were no other green marks. Did green mean safehouse?

He moved his finger along the map, trying to find his current location to see what it was marked with. Across a mishmash of blue lines, red circles, pink stars and other doodles that seemingly had no meaning, Bruce found the apartment marked with a green X. _It means safehouse for sure,_ Bruce thought as he took his phone out of his pocket.

Switching to the camera, he raised it to take photos of the map to figure out later. As he took the first photo, he paused, feeling strangely guilty. _You’re being absurd,_ Bruce thought at the same time something else flickered across his brain, _what if Joker left this map here for you to find and its wrong information?_ But the safehouses were marked. _If it isn’t false information and the map is real, then on some layer Joker trusts you with it._

No. Joker was incapable of something like that. More than likely, the map had no information Joker cared about Bruce discovering. It could also be old and therefore useless. Joker was a sociopath, a murderer, he couldn’t trust anyone with anything…

_Then why are you sleeping with him? Why have you slept better the last two nights than you have in years? Why do you wish he was here right now?_

His chest was feeling tight as he finished taking the photos. Double checking them on his phone, something caught his eye. Glancing back up at the map, Bruce sat on the couch, facing the map, finding the spot that grabbed his attention.

It was along one of the subway tunnels.

A green X.

Flashes of his dinner with the Joker ran across Bruce’s head in bright, vivid colors, like a movie he couldn’t stop. No windows on any of the walls. Feeling as if he was underground. Some part of him had known, hadn’t he? But he couldn’t accept it. The idea of being back there. Under Gotham, in the tunnels filled with death. And he knew in that moment where the confession tape would be located…

In Joker’s hideout in the subway tunnels.

The panic attack hit Bruce so hard that he scrambled off the couch, grabbing his chest, wondering briefly if he was having a heart attack. His chest felt as if it were being crunched with a mallet and he could no longer breath. He could feel the heat of the flames on his skin, could smell the charred flesh, the walls were closing in around him –

Joker putting the tape there meant it would be almost impossible to retrieve it. No way could Bruce go down there. It just wasn’t possible. The only reason he didn’t freak out the first time was because he hadn’t been 100 percent sure he was underground – it was easier to deny it.

Easier to deny it! Hadn’t that been what Bruce kept doing? Denying he was in the subway tunnels, denying his feelings for Joker, denying himself the chance to get the confession tape and be free of this.

Bruce found himself in the corner of the living room, sitting on the floor, his knees brought to his chest. Rocking back and forth, he tried to get himself under control, yet his breathing seemed impossible to wrangle in. The worst part was he wished Joker was here, with the water in his World’s Best Dad mug. He hated himself for missing him.

Burying his face in his hands, gasping for air, Bruce had never felt so mangled up inside before. Before the monorail kidnapping, he knew his place in the world as Batman. It made sense. Now, every day he spiraled more out of control. It was reminiscent of the night his parents died where his world didn’t add up anymore and he was floating out to sea.

It was _wrong_ to enjoy being with the Joker yet here he was. He knew where the tapes would be located and yet here he was. No matter how he tried to spin it, the truth was Bruce had allowed himself to be swept up in something horrible…and he liked it, he wanted more of it. What he should be doing and what he wanted were two completely different things and it was eating him up inside.

Bruce wasn’t sure how long he remained in the corner. Too long. The outside world waited for him. He had a business to run. He hadn’t patrolled Gotham in two nights because of Joker. Things weren’t in order. But Bruce had never had panic attacks before and just had two in under twenty-four hours.

By the time Bruce calmed down and left an hour later, his path was not any clearer than before. He felt torn apart by everything unfolding.

The temperature dropped so much overnight that it was chilly even in the morning. Snow lined Gotham, crunching underneath his shoes. Walking to his car, he passed by a newspaper stand and slowed down.

It was his own name that Bruce noticed. He stopped, walking over to the newspaper stand and picking up the paper. In big letters was the headline: **BRUCE WAYNE WORKING WITH JOKER?** It was a glorified tabloid paper that published the article. Even so, the fact it hit the mainstream did not bode well to him.

“Hey, either buy it or piss off.” The owner snapped, not glancing up from their phone.

Bruce tossed a couple of dollars on the counter and scurried off with the paper, suddenly hyper aware that anyone could see him lingering around. Slipping into his car, he scanned the article quickly, heart pounding.

The article was the same as the theory Alice had told him about. Bruce Wayne, kidnapped by the clown prince of crime, mysteriously dropped off at Wayne Manor basically unharmed. Some “source” said he had been acting strange at work and another “source” said at the charity ball he was unsociable. The article, with no facts, made a convincing vague story of Bruce having been corrupted or blackmailed by the Joker, like so many other notable Gotham figures.

Bruce lowered the paper, staring blankly out the window. His brain was stuffed full of cotton. He was bumbling around in a fog. How did things get so out of hand? He wasn’t working with Joker…was he? He hadn’t helped him do anything bad. But he helped him avoid the police the night of the bank explosion. He knew Joker killed Jameson at the party and didn’t speak a word about it. And after the monorail hijacking, when Bruce returned home, he steadfastly was avoiding Gordon and the Gotham police so he didn’t have to explain not only the hologram, but how he hadn’t help them save the other hostages that night. And of course…he was…having sex with the Joker. No matter how Bruce cut it, he was doing things that were clearly wrong.

_But the tapes…_ he thought lamely. He knew where they were now. He could locate them in the tunnels. But the idea of going down in there…

_Are the tapes just an excuse to keep seeing Joker? Once I have the confession, I can put him behind bars._

It was difficult to deny the truth of things when he was alone in his car. Bruce closed his eyes, already feeling a headache coming on.

_What does it say about me, about being Batman, if I don’t want to lock him away?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> if you like my work, please consider taking a look at my patreon! you can get early access to my projects as well as blog posts about my works: https://www.patreon.com/lylabanks
> 
> buy me a coffee: https://ko-fi.com/ryohazuki


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is NSFW.

Bruce arrived back at Wayne Manor late in the evening. After going to work for hours, he lingered in his office, unsure what the night would bring. Joker hadn’t reached out to him. Without any way to contact Joker, Bruce thought he would be relieved at having time tonight to focus on patrol.

But instead, he couldn’t stop thinking about him and he couldn’t stop dwelling on the subway tunnels.

Alfred was waiting for him when he got home. Bruce had been avoiding him since the night in the library, ashamed even though Alfred couldn’t know what happened. Avoiding him was a bad idea, however, since the look of concern on Alfred’s face made it clear that he wanted to talk.

“Master Bruce, you’re home late. After you didn’t return last night, I feared something happened with the Joker.”

Bruce crossed the room, sitting down on the couch, trying to think of how close to the truth he could go. “Joker had me go to one of his safehouses. I…ended up falling asleep there.”

Something flickered across Alfred’s face. But it was gone so quickly that Bruce thought he maybe imagined it.

Before he could reply, Bruce said quickly, “But I found out where the tapes are.”

“Oh, well that is a relief.”

“Yes…” He hesitated, “But they are located in the tunnels.”

Alfred sat down in a chair opposite of Bruce, worry evident on his face. “To make a base in such a ghastly place…”

“I know.” He clenched his hands for a moment, tension building in his chest.

“Those tunnels were nothing but a source of misery to you, Master Wayne. Even now, I can tell that night is not far from your thoughts. Even though I do not know the extent of what occurred that night, I cannot believe it would be easy for you to go back there.”

Once again, Alfred was more observant than Bruce ever counted on. It was true that he hadn’t told him about killing Joker, but Alfred could sense something darker had happened that night than just the subway train derailments.

He shifted slightly, trying to think of how best to word his feelings while not exposing the true nature of that night or what was currently going on with Joker. “I don’t know how I’m going to go back there. That night…it isn’t something I want to remember.” _And yet it haunts me daily._

“I know I have mentioned this before but the task in which you have undertook is a large one, Master Bruce. It involves a lot of work and effort. It is simply too much for just you. If you had someone on the team, someone who could go in your stead –”

“Well, I don’t,” Bruce snapped, “It’s just me. I’m the only one who can go down in the tunnels. It’s all on me.”

Alfred was unruffled by his attitude. “That’s my point, Master Wayne. It’s on you all the time. Constantly. It could be too much…”

“It isn’t too much!” He couldn’t explain why he was getting agitated; it wasn’t fair to Alfred either. But Bruce was on edge, embarrassed about his reaction to the tunnels, his secret affair with Joker and how Alfred must think he was slipping behind on his Batman duties. “I can handle it.” He stood up suddenly, anxious to get out.

“Master Bruce, I wasn’t trying to say –”

“I have it under control. Once I get a plan going and narrow down where in the tunnels his safehouse is, I’ll get the tape. And I’ll send Joker back to Arkham.” Even though this was directed to Alfred, it felt more like a declaration to himself.

Alfred opened his mouth to reply but it was cut off by the doorbell being rung rapidly. Two, three, no, four times it rang in quick succession with an urgency that made the hair on the back of Bruce’s neck stand up.

“I’ll get it.” He told Alfred, leaving the room, wondering what was happening now. Distantly, he thought it could be reporters.

He was still dwelling on reporters when he opened the door and came to an abrupt stop.

To his chagrin…and perhaps to his relief, stood the Joker. In his thin fingers he clutched the newspaper that Bruce read earlier. His hair was wet; it must have started to rain at some point and Bruce hadn’t noticed. The Joker’s makeup was messy, lipstick applied so hurriedly that it ran off his lips and onto his chin at points. Wearing a thin suit jacket three sizes too big, it hung off his bony frame and made him look frailer than usual.

Bruce’s chest constricted at the sight of him. How could one person conjure up such dread and passion at the same time?

“Batsy, did you see?” Joker said by way of greeting, thrusting the paper towards Bruce, stepping inside the manor without permission – why would he ask? At this point, who knew what Joker thought about the two of them. They had slept together numerous times, Joker’s arms around him as Bruce rested his head against his chest, falling asleep. “They think we are working together!”

Alfred hovered by the doorway, watching but not speaking. Bruce needed to get Joker away from him. He didn’t want Alfred landing in his sights. And…well, he worried that Alfred was so observant he could pick something up between the two of them. The shame at Alfred finding out Bruce slept with Joker would be too much to bear. No, he needed to get control of the situation quickly.

“I saw.” Bruce mumbled, reaching out and grabbing Joker’s upper arm before he could go galivanting off further in the mansion. His suit jacket was wet, and Bruce could feel the thinness of Joker’s arm underneath his steel grip. “Why don’t you come with me?”

Joker’s gaze darted to Alfred, the smile briefly dropping from his face. Eyes narrowed slightly. For a split second, Bruce wondered he was going to speak or argue. But whatever it was, he let it go and allowed Bruce to guide him up the staircase towards where his quarters were. His bad leg dragged a little behind him and Bruce slowed his pace just enough so that Joker didn’t fall behind. It was clear that, by this point, the limp was going to be a permanent thing.

The rain picked up now, Bruce could hear it against the roof. Joker, the paper still clenched in his hands, followed Bruce. He decided not to take Joker into his bedroom. Better not to have a bed nearby…although that hadn’t stopped them before…

He settled on a room that badly needed to be updated. It worked as a meeting room, but Bruce never held any in it. It was too close to his own bedroom and if anyone from Wayne Corp came here, he held his meetings in the rooms closer to the entrance hall. Because of this, the curtains hung heavily against the windows and there was a musty scent in the air. Joker wrinkled his nose.

“Geez, Bats, for such a nice place, you sure let some of it go to shit.”

“Are you getting picky now, Joker? I’ve seen where you hide out.” Bruce replied curtly, tugging the curtains open to reveal windows that definitely needed a good cleaning.

Joker sat on the edge of the wooden conference table, running a gloved finger over the dust. He crossed his legs, looking almost dainty sitting there. “I just assumed someone like you would have the place all neat and tidy. However, I’m learning that maybe the manor is more reflective of you than I originally thought.”

That brought Bruce up short. “What does that mean?” He asked before stopping himself. Surely, he was playing into Joker’s hands.

The Joker was dripping water onto the table but paid no attention to it. With the paper flattened out in his lap, he ran his fingers through his hair, shaking droplets onto the wood. Bruce knew his heart was quickening but refused to pay attention to it.

“You know,” He said as if Bruce was slow, “The manor being indictive of your own mental state.”

“What?” He opened and closed his mouth to refute the statement, but no other words came out.

“All these dusty and closed off rooms! Everything so old and disused. Not a lot of warmth in this house, Batsy.” He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “No, I’d say your mental health issues go straight into the manor.”

He didn’t like the idea of the Joker assessing his mental health. What would he know, anyway?

“Did you come here just to show me the paper?”

Joker tilted his head to the side, exposing the pale skin of his neck. Bruce could feel it underneath his lips, the way he had kissed it last night again and again…

“Are you not happy about the article? Me, I’m tickled pink.” Joker’s voice dropped, a slow smile spreading out across his painted face.

Bruce took a step towards him, ripped the paper out of his lap. “No, I’m not happy. Why would I be happy?”

Joker reached out, his long gloved fingers circling around Bruce’s wrist, gently tugging him forward. The paper fell to their feet.

“Fine, you caught me,” Joker murmured quietly, “Maybe I just wanted to see you, Batsy.”

This is where he needed to stop it before it started. It would only go too far again if Bruce didn’t stop it right now. And yet he did nothing, distracted by the fact that with Joker sitting on the table, Bruce was taller and was looking down into his eyes.

Joker wrapped his legs around Bruce’s waist, effectively tying them together as his fingers played with his tie.

“We can’t do this.” Bruce said with much effort.

Joker rolled his eyes. “Bats, I’m getting sick of the same lecture.”

“I need to patrol Gotham tonight. I’ve been away for too long.”

“ _I’ve been away for too long.”_ Joker mimicked in a surprisingly accurate imitation.

Before Bruce could protest yet again, Joker leaned back a little and with a deft hand, undid the buttons on the oversized suit jacket. It fell off his shoulders in one quick movement. Joker was shirtless underneath, pale and tender skin exposed to the cold air of the manor. The jacket bunched around his midsection. Bruce found it difficult to breath, his resistance cracking like thin ice. Joker looked up at him with half lidded eyes, his eyelashes tinged with rain droplets.

Bruce’s hand cupped Joker’s cheek and before he could stop himself, their lips met. He could feel the fire in his chest immediately, spreading out across his body, warm waves of desire and danger, as the kiss deepened. Their tongues met and the fire stirred more urgently. Bruce leaned forward, wanting more of Joker – wanting all of him – in the worst way – Joker’s legs around him tightly, his arms around his shoulders, pulling Bruce in as close as possible. The kiss threatened to swallow him whole – he would lose himself entirely to the Joker, never to resurface. Bruce and Batman would cease to existence and in its place would be…

The thought broke through the fog of desire and Bruce pulled away. Both men were breathing heavily. Joker’s eyes darted over Bruce’s face, trying to gauge what he was thinking.

With more strength than he ever had to use in combat, Bruce mumbled, “I can’t.” and before Joker could protest, he pushed himself away, breaking the hold of Joker’s arms and legs.

Bruce took three large steps back, trying to create as much distance as possible between them, afraid that if he even was an inch too close he would go back for Joker’s kisses.

“I know you put the tape in the subway.”

The words lingered in the air. Joker’s face changed at once. The desire, now wiped clean, was replaced by something cold and distant.

Bruce hurried on, “I don’t understand why you – why you keep trying to bring that night back. Why would you put it there, above all places?”

“Because you won’t go down there to get it.” Joker replied simply but there was something in his tone that Bruce misliked.

“Whatever this is…between us. It can’t go on. Tape or no tape. Just put the confession out. Let Gotham see it.”

Joker slid off the table, shrugging the jacket back on, leaving it unbuttoned so Bruce could still see slivers of skin. “Do you know what they’d do to you if they saw the confession tape?” His voice, so low, grinding against Bruce’s spine, up into his brain. “They’d want nothing to do with you. You’d be run out of town. They would eat you alive.”

“Then let them.” Bruce replied quickly.

“You say that now,” Joker moved towards him. The way he walked was like an animal ready to make its killing strike. “What will you do when you’re made the bad guy? They already think Bruce Wayne is working with me. If they find out you’re Batman, do you think they’d fall to your knees and thank you? A billionaire dressed as a bat, running around and pretending to be God?”

“That isn’t what I do, and they know that.”

“Do they? I remember at the party when I killed that homophobe…how they were all over you like ants on honey. They were itching for the grimy details of your trauma – touched by me, they wanted your poison. Do you really think they won’t turn on you?” Joker was close now. Too close. Bruce needed to pull away but…

“You’re trying to get in my head about it. It won’t work. Gotham knows what Batman symbolizes. What I try to do for the city.”

“Sure. Let’s say they do. What about the people you locked up, injured, ruined their lives? Even if the citizens of Gotham fall to your feet in adoration, the people you have royally fucked over won’t be so pleased. They’ll keep coming after you. Again and again. And it isn’t just you they’d go after. Your father figure masquerading as a butler would be high up on the hit list.”

Ice descended on Bruce. Chest tight, he stared at Joker. The words sunk in. Sure, he could fend for himself. But Alfred…putting him in danger.

Sensing he had hit a nerve, Joker kept going. “Don’t think I didn’t notice how quickly you were moving to get me out of the foyer away from dear old dad.” He put his hands up innocently. “I know he’s off limits. But other people might not be so generous.” 

_I know he’s off limits._ Did Joker truly know that? He had numerous occasions to injure Alfred yet always left him untouched. The thought bounced around his head and Bruce shoved it to the side; he didn’t want to think about that now.

“For better or worse, Bats, we are tied together. You know that. Deep down, you do.” Joker pressed his gloved hands against Bruce’s chest.

He brought his hands up and pushed Joker’s away, shaking his head. “We can’t do this. I can’t do this with you. Don’t –” His voice caught, it was as if being strangled, “Don’t make me keep struggling with this.”

Joker’s eyes narrowed. “Struggling with what?”

“Sleeping with you. Touching you. And afterwards, how I feel. It eats me up. It’s too much. I can’t. You and I – it isn’t possible. It’s wrong. Don’t force me.” His voice was a thin wire. God, he prayed Joker didn’t attempt to cross it.

Joker’s lips pressed in a thin line. “You’re the one who allows me to touch you. I don’t force you. I have never once held the tape over your head in regards to what we do to each other in this way and yet you say _don’t force me_. Why don’t you accept your own responsibility in this, Bruce?”

It was the first time Joker had used his name in anger instead of a whisper of yearning or lust. Bruce recognized the truth of what he said and that terrified him even more.

Joker reached for Bruce’s belt, tugged on it hard. His fingers undid it, similar to their first night together. “Tell me to stop. Tell me you don’t want me to do this.” The belt dropped to the floor. Unzipping Bruce’s pants, he didn’t break eye contact. “Tell me to stop.” He repeated.

His head was very light. The words were stuck in his throat. Joker tugged down his boxers just enough for his cock to spring free. To Bruce’s shame, it was hard again.

Joker dropped to his knees, the jacket sliding down his shoulders. His gloved hand wrapped around Bruce’s cock and he began to stroke him. It felt so good that he knew his protests were dying quickly. Or perhaps they never really existed at all. Maybe Joker was right – he protested and pushed blame on him when in reality, Bruce went into this too willingly and couldn’t face it.

Joker’s tongue flicked across the tip of his cock, once, twice, three times and on the third time, his lips wrapped against the head. His tongue rolled across the tip but he didn’t take Bruce’s cock any farther. God, it felt so good; the pleasure could have blotted out the sun.

Joker moved his lips away from his cock and spoke in a growl. “Look down at me, Bruce.”

He obeyed, chest rising and falling rapidly. Joker on his knees, those delicate shoulders soaking up moonlight, hair drying from the rain, and those eyes that promised pleasure and more…

“I want you to watch the entire time.” Joker commanded. “Watch what you willingly accept the entire time.”

His lips were back around Bruce’s cock and this time, he took it deeper. His tongue pressing against the underside, cheeks hollowing as he sucked on Bruce, starting to bob his head as he worked on him. A throaty groan escaped Bruce as he watched. He didn’t dare look away. The sight was too good – something deep down inside of him had wanted to see Joker do this, hadn’t he?

Joker’s tongue worked him expertly. Sometimes he would remove Bruce’s cock with a soft sigh, leaving the tip smearing precum against his lips. His lipstick was rubbing off on Bruce, a sight not new to him yet still somehow thrilling. Jerking Bruce off, he would leave his lips there, allowing the precum to make a small mess across his lips before taking him back in his mouth.

The rain pelted against the window but the lights of Gotham, swallowed up by the trees that surrounded the manor, made the city a distant memory. The only thing Bruce could focus on was Joker’s lips around his cock, the way his throat felt, the way he looked with his soft shoulders and that oversized jacket – he had never felt like this before, swept up in something that seemed to be much bigger than him. The only thing that mattered right now was this moment.

It wasn’t that long ago that Bruce was jealous over Joker touching that man in the club. And now, Joker was doing something much more intense to him. Drooling against Bruce’s cock, his head bobbing, taking it as deep as he could without choking, spit and precum mingling and dripping off his chin – the sight and feelings were quickly proving to be too much. Bruce’s legs were weak, he wished he had something to grab onto.

On a whim, his hands found Joker’s hair. Curling it around his fingertips, Joker let out a groan of approval against Bruce’s cock. He was going to cum and Joker could tell. His pace picked up, working Bruce to the edge. With a moan, he started to climax. Joker didn’t move off his cock, taking his cum into his mouth, swallowing it as Bruce came. Bruce watched, as difficult as it was not to close his eyes. He watched as Joker took his load, tasting it, swallowing it, and when it was over, Joker leaned back, looking up at Bruce. One finger dragged across his lips, picking up any cum he missed, licking it off his finger. His cheeks were flushed, hair messy and eyes glinting.

With the pleasure receding, the embarrassment swept in. Joker primly stood up as Bruce tugged up his pants clumsily. He pulled the jacket back up, this time doing the buttons as well.

“Think about it, Bruce.” Joker said quietly. “About what you really want.”

Without another word, Joker pushed past him. Bruce didn’t turn to watch him go, instead staring into the room without really seeing it.

Some part of him wanted to turn and go after Joker but another part left him rooted to this very spot. And that was what Joker meant, wasn’t it? The line he tried so carefully to balance on – having Joker and locking Joker up.

He couldn’t have it both ways.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is NSFW. contains smut.

Bruce removed his hat, shaking the water out of his hair. Another thunderstorm was sweeping through Gotham. Between all the rain and snow lately, it seemed like Gotham was never allowed to come up for air. He hadn’t anticipated being here tonight. His original plan had been to go work late tonight at Wayne Tower.

The new hire, Lucius Fox, started today and Bruce already could tell they were going to get along. There was something focused in everything Lucius said, a thoughtfulness that Bruce naturally gravitated towards. He had every intention to sit with Lucius and go over information, future projects, anything else to get him up to speed in the tech that Wayne Corp was looking to get more heavily involved in.

But then the e-mail…

Around four, an e-mail from an unknown sender plopped itself in his business inbox. The sender was marked unknown and the subject was merely a winking face emoji. Inside was an address and a time for tonight. All thoughts of sitting down with Lucius went out the window.

It had been two weeks since Bruce saw Joker. The night in the old conference room replayed in his head constantly. Joker in that oversized jacket, his exposed shoulders, the way he dropped to his knees to give Bruce pleasure. Push and pull – they were opposites yet united in a way that Bruce feared would be his undoing. Joker had made it clear their last encounter that Bruce was only fooling himself when he tried to both have Joker and the ability to refuse him while playing the innocent.

But he was no closer to figuring out how to stop it. Outside of venturing down into the subway tunnels to get the tape…

But once he got the tape, what then? Would he really be able to stop what brewed between them? If there was one thing Joker proved last time, it was that Bruce couldn’t resist him. For all his moral codes, all his promises to put a stop to things, when it came right down to it, Bruce allowed Joker to do whatever he wanted to him. How long could such a thing go on?

The answer was not going to be discovered tonight, not while Bruce stood outside the place Joker led him to. He was on the outskirts of Gotham, in a regular looking suburb. The house looked a little run down and there was a knocked over For Sale sign that was soaking wet in the grass. No lights were on and Bruce worried he looked suspicious standing here. He had gotten the Uber to drop him off one street over and walked here so no car would be in the driveway. Now, he wondered if that was more suspicious than taking one of his own cars.

But when he thought about the newspapers and rumors about him, it was too great a risk to leave his car sitting around and possibly be found.

Deciding not to linger, he knocked on the door. If this was a safehouse, it was too new to be marked on the map Bruce took photos of. A light turned on in the living room. Bruce’s throat caught. After not seeing in Joker so long, doing regular patrols as Batman, his old schedule had returned. How quickly he ditched that to see him…

The door opened. Joker stood before him in a baggy t-shirt that said “Yoga class? I thought you said pour a glass!” and dress pants. His gloves, bright purple, were shorter than usual and had silver glitter around the trim.

“Nice shirt.” Bruce remarked dryly as he stepped inside.

Joker shut the door and looked down at it. “Do you like it? I stole it from a woman. Or did I kill her for it?” He frowned. “Maybe I bought it? No, that can’t be right…”

The idea of Joker murdering a woman for her wine mom shirt was yet another reminder of who he was truly coming to see. It must have shown on his face because Joker stuck out his hands innocently.

“Come on, Bats, you just got here! Don’t go brooding on me already.” He grabbed Bruce’s hand, tugging him past the living room, which was empty besides a lamp on the floor for light, and through the dining room – also empty.

“Did you buy this place?” Bruce asked curiously.

“In a way.” Joker replied but didn’t expand.

Bruce looked down at their hands entwined and felt no urge to pull them apart. He would have done that before but what was the point? They both knew why Bruce showed up here and he couldn’t keep up the pretense anymore of pretending all of this was Joker’s fault. Joker had seen to that with his _tell me to stop_ blowjob last time.

The master bedroom had a dresser that was overflowing with a random assortment of clothes. A lamp, propped precariously on the edge, flickered as the power almost went out. The bed was large with too many pillows and dark red sheets.

Before Bruce could say anything, Joker turned around, cupped his face in his gloved hands and kissed him. Anything he was going to say died in his brain as he returned the kiss. The kiss grew hungrier, more desperate and it didn’t take long for their clothes to be removed and to fall into bed together.

Afterwards, as the storm continued to rage outside, Bruce laid back against the pillows with Joker resting his head against his chest. They were silent. Joker’s gloved fingers trailed up along his chest. There were white streaks of makeup along his thighs and he knew his lips probably had Joker’s lipstick as well. He found he didn’t mind.

The sound of the storm was lulling Bruce to sleep but he didn’t want to drift off yet. Falling asleep would mean facing the morning light without Joker and trudging back into the real world where he would be plagued by the doubts that had taken root and bloomed.

Instead, before he could stop himself, he asked a question he wondered many times before.

“Why do you always wear gloves?”

Joker stiffened slightly and Bruce regretted asking. He didn’t want to set him off.

“Sorry, I just – forget it.” He mumbled awkwardly even though it was absurd to feel this way – Joker knew his deepest secret, after all.

Instead of replying, Joker propped himself up to better look at Bruce. Then he reached down for one glove and peeled it off, doing the same with the other glove. They fell onto Bruce’s chest as Joker held out his hands in front of his face.

Whatever Bruce had been expecting, it wasn’t this. Joker’s hands were mauled, lined with scars of various sizes. Tiny spidery scars to large heavy ones across the palms of his hands as if a knife had been taken to them. Some fingers were missing nails entirely, others were chipped and cracking. Bruce had once wondered if Joker painted his fingernails and now he knew the answer – they would be impossible to paint. The smaller scars were as thin as needles grazing the skin.

“What happened?” Bruce asked after a moment.

Joker’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know,” He replied, “I mean, I forgot.” He looked troubled, running into a mental roadblock. “But they just feel personal. As if their appearance belongs to me. Do you understand?”

Bruce did understand. Slowly, not to startle Joker, he brought his own hands up and wrapped them around his. Underneath his fingers, he could feel the raised skin of the scars. He brought them to his lips, kissing the tips of Joker’s fingers, down the palms of his hands, along his wrists.

Joker watched him with careful eyes, a guarded expression on his face. The rain pounded against the roof; the power flickered for a moment before going out completely. Now, the only source of light came from the moonlight struggling to get through the blinds.

Bruce shifted so that he sat up in bed, grabbing Joker to sit in his lap, who immediately wrapped his legs around him. Bruce could feel himself grow hard and he brought his lips against Joker’s, kissing him as they slowly grinded against each other. Joker was a slim wisp of a thing in Bruce’s lap.

The gloves forgotten, Joker’s bare hands touched his chest for the first time. His hands were freezing cold, causing Bruce’s skin to break out in goosebumps.

“Bruce,” he whispered in a low throaty tone, “I want you to fuck me.”

“Is that a demand?” Bruce mumbled back as he dragged his lips along Joker’s neck.

He let out a small sigh of delight, “Yes, it is.”

Bruce had never been the one to fuck Joker. But at this point, having done so much together, the idea had crossed his mind once or twice. His lips moved to Joker’s, and they met in another kiss. When it broke, Joker spit in the palm of his hand, reached down and wrapped his hand around Bruce’s cock.

He groaned at the sudden sensation. The feeling of Joker’s bare hand there…his breath caught as Joker stroked him, using more spit, getting him ready. Once he was done covering his cock in spit, Bruce reached for the lube from the bedside table, applying it liberally.

Once that was finished, Joker positioned himself on top of Bruce and allowed himself to sink down. The sensation was new to him and he found it pleasurable as his cock entered Joker, who took it easily. As each inch of Bruce entered him, he marveled at how good it felt. Joker was breathing hard, his hands on Bruce’s shoulders as he wiggled down on his cock.

When he was fully inside him, Joker went still, allowing himself to get used to Bruce. Then, he leaned forward. Their lips crashed together and Joker began to move his hips.

With their tongues meeting, Bruce wrapped his arms around Joker, marveling at his slender frame, the coldness of his skin, his bare hands. When the kiss broke, Joker’s hands found Bruce’s hair, tangling his long fingers in it.

Joker began to bounce harder on his cock, pressing his forehead against Bruce’s, their breathing growing ragged. Lips touching once more, Joker’s tongue darted out across Bruce’s before biting on his bottom lip, tugging it with his teeth. Bruce arched his hips slightly, driving his cock further into Joker, who brought his own hips down harder to take more of him. God, it felt good – like every time with him, the wrongness of it became a muted afterthought. All he wanted was more of Joker – all of him – blotting out everything besides this moment.

Bruce held Joker tightly as each kiss grew more desperate and sloppier. Both men were grunting, moaning in between ragged gasps for air. Joker’s body was curled against him, Bruce’s fingers digging into his skin as he bounced in his lap.

The pressure was mounting, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he would last. Joker brought his hips down hard and it proved to be too much. With a groan, Bruce climaxed, raising his hips upwards to cum. Joker reached down for his own cock, stroking it hard and fast as Bruce came. It didn’t take long for Joker to finish himself off. Seconds later, the two men came together. Joker came across Bruce’s stomach with a ragged groan of pleasure. Bruce’s head rolled back, his hands gripping Joker’s hips hard as the climax made his entire body feel warm. The only thing he wanted in that moment was more of Joker, no matter how bad or wrong it was.

After cleaning up, the two remained in bed lazily. It was close to midnight now and the rain showed no signs of letting up.

“What about that one?” Joker asked.

He had spent the last ten minutes pointing to each individual scar on Bruce’s body and asking how he got it. “Poison Ivy. She struck me with some vine, it managed to impact the suit.”

Joker dragged his finger along it. His gloves lay forgotten on the floor. “And the one underneath it?”

Bruce frowned. “Uh, I can barely remember. I think it was just a lucky hit.”

“Aren’t these all lucky hits?” Joker mused, “And this one?” His fingers traveled across his side to a scar new forming.

“Hmm, well…I got stabbed by the crown prince of crime in a clock tower.” Bruce replied.

“He’s a nasty bit of work.” He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth before tilting his face upwards to look at Bruce.

Bruce ran his fingers through Joker’s hair, meeting his gaze. The stabbing felt like an event that happened a long time ago. He had spent so much time paying attention to Joker in the thin button up, the way he was on top of him, that it seemed silly in hindsight not to realize what truly was on his mind.

Joker leaned forward; their lips met in a small kiss. Bruce went to deepen it but it was Joker who pulled away first. In a whisper, he said, “Bruce. We both know how this is going to end between us.”

The sudden shift in conversation took him by surprise. “What do you mean?”

“You know. There’s only one way things between us can go and it won’t be the way I want.”

Bruce chewed on this for a moment. “And what’s the way you want it to end?”

“We leave Gotham. You step down from Wayne Corp. We take the money and go somewhere far away from here. Where no one cares about us.”

Baffled, without thinking, he went, “What?” He laughed a little, “Come on. Sell Wayne Corp? Leave Gotham?”

Joker’s lips pressed together. “I didn’t realize you were so smitten with the city.”

Pushing himself up now, he stared at Joker. “It’s my home. My business is here. Everything is here.”

Joker reached for his hands, grabbed them, the bumpy scars of his skin pressing against Bruce. “There isn’t anything here. Is being Batman so important that you need to stay? And the company can go on without you. You can step down.”

“And do what? Run off with you to where? You’re a criminal and I’m a billionaire. People will know we are together. There isn’t some riding off in the sunset for us.” He was beginning to feel agitated. Why was Joker bringing this up? Why speak about things that were impossible?

“With your money, we could go anywhere and vanish. Make it impossible for people to find us.”

“And you, what exactly, would give up your life of chaos and crime? Am I supposed to think in a new location we wouldn’t be the people we are?”

Joker let go of Bruce’s hands. “And what people are we?”

“You know what you are.”

The words came out harsher than Bruce intended. Joker recoiled as if struck, a scowl settling on that usually wide grin of his. “Maybe I do. At least I know. Do you know what you are? Have you accepted the reality of yourself?” He got off the bed, the moonlight striking pale skin, making it glow. “I’m sick of holding you by the hand and leading you to the truth. It isn’t my job to do that.”

Bruce’s fingers dug into the bedsheets. “The last thing I need is guidance from you. I never asked for it.”

“Yes, you did!” Joker hissed through clenched teeth as he snatched up his clothes. “Every moment we interacted, you begged for it. _I see you_. From the start I always have. And I can admit the truth every second of the day. I know the darkness in me. You refuse to see yours,” He tugged on his shirt. “I can’t keep leading you to it. Why don’t you try some fucking self-reflection for once?”

Bruce was unmoored, gaping at Joker. The conversation felt like an argument between two lovers, so utterly normal in relationships that were destined to fail. He shouldn’t be having it with Joker. It was too surreal. The venom behind his words, the hurried way he was dressing – all of it felt normal – too normal. His chest began to grow tight.

The juxtaposition of a regular lover’s argument with the clown prince of crime started making Bruce feel the panic that started before an attack came.

Joker stood in the doorway. The moonlight through the blinds cast shadows along his face in stripes. Frustrated, he ran one hand through his hair. Bruce still hadn’t spoken. He wasn’t sure what to say and the mounting pressure in his chest was making it difficult to think.

For a moment, Bruce thought he was going to say something, but nothing was forthcoming. Maybe Joker believed he was going to speak first. But when he didn’t, Joker tugged on his hair in frustration. Turning sharply on his heel, he stormed out of the room. Bruce sat in bed, listening to the sound of his footsteps, the front door opening, and slamming shut. Then there was silence outside of the pouring rain.

His head was going a mile a minute and it was difficult to slow it down. Chest rising and falling, he kicked off the bedsheets and got out of the bed. The walls were closing in and it was starting to smother him. Bruce stumbled into the master bathroom just as the power came back on. Should he have gone after Joker? No, it was obvious that he wanted to get away from him. Bruce hit the bathroom lights on and opened the shower door.

A few seconds later, he stood underneath scalding hot water in a house that didn’t belong to him, in a neighborhood he didn’t know. The water beat against his skin, washing Joker off, washing his sins off, making his skin a bright red. His chest was so tight it could shatter but the panic attack hadn’t started. He tried to focus on his breathing.

Joker was right – there could only be one way things ended between them and it wasn’t running off to start new lives together. Not while Bruce had so many ties to Gotham…including being Batman, which was his life’s purpose, his driving force. Surely, Joker knew that. This would end one of two ways: Bruce dead or Joker in Arkham.

But what did Joker mean by leading him to discover things about himself? It was difficult to know if he spoke about the innate connection between them that Bruce long denied. But he had accepted a connection, hadn’t he? That was why they were sleeping together, after all, because he gave in to what resided in his heart.

_Have you accepted the reality of yourself?_

Bruce thought he had. He knew his moral code, what he wanted to accomplish as Batman. But lately…

He pictured Joker in the subway tunnels, limp at his feet. The darkness that resided in him. The darkness that resided in the Joker.

*

By the time he got back to Wayne Manor, it was past two in the morning. He had stayed under the hot water of the shower for much too long until the crushing feeling in his chest dissipated and then took an Uber back into the city before stopping at a diner, having a cup of coffee and taking another Uber back to the manor. The storm had passed by this point, leaving Gotham a soggy mess. Taking multiple cars back to the manor made Bruce feel like a thief in the night. It nagged at him how much lying and sneaking around he did once being wrapped up in the Joker.

It was this he was thinking about as he slunk into the manor, feeling like a teenager again trying to dodge Alfred’s watchful eye.

It was all in vain however, when the lights flicked on as Bruce approached the stairs. Alfred waited outside the den, looking at him with a careful, guarded expression.

“Master Bruce. I think we need to talk.”

And in that moment, he knew that Alfred was aware the entire time what had been going on.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please note as we head into the end of this story (just a few chapters left now) that this is an angst fic.

“Why don’t I make you some tea?” Alfred said as Bruce followed him into the den, feeling like a teenager being caught with pot.

“Uh, sure.” He mumbled, sitting down on the couch awkwardly.

Did Alfred know the extent of what was going on with Joker? It was Bruce’s mistake to think he could be so easily fooled. Or maybe just denial. There seemed to be a lot of that going on with him lately – denial about how he saw the Joker, about the pleasure he received from him, about being Batman. Why not add Alfred to the list?

Silence filled the den as the tea was made. A few minutes later, Alfred handed him a cup, took one for himself and sat down across from Bruce, as if in a job interview.

“I tried to reach you tonight.” Alfred began quietly with much composure. That only made it worse.

Bruce wasn’t sure how to say that he left his phone at home and used a burner to call the Ubers due to paranoia.

But Alfred went on, “I realized you left your phone at home and didn’t have the Bat contactor on you either. So, you are unaware of the attack on the harbor.”

“What attack on the harbor?” Bruce asked instantly. “I didn’t hear about it even in the Ubers.” A slip up, he realized instantly but did it matter? In hindsight, the Ubers had just played music from Spotify, not had local news on, so he supposed he wouldn’t have known.

“The Penguin stole shipments arriving to Gotham – guns, armor, other items he deemed of upmost importance. Ten are dead, two police officers, the rest were dock workers.”

The Penguin, who only had begun to make trouble a year ago, had been lying low since the subway attacks. “I hadn’t anticipated his return. I…” His throat closed, rendering him speechless.

“The police called for Batman’s assistance, but I was unable to reach you. The Penguin got away with everything he needed to cause serious trouble in the future.” Alfred paused and took a sip of his tea. He was waiting for Bruce to respond.

But he didn’t know what to say. The floor tilted underneath his feet and the crushing sensation was back. In his haste to have Joker, the other shoe finally dropped. Innocent people died because he wasn’t there to stop the Penguin. There was no justification for that.

When it was clear that Bruce wasn’t going to reply, Alfred cleared his throat gently, lowering the tea cup with a small _clink._ “Were you with the Joker tonight?”

There it was. Bluntly asked. To exactly what Alfred implied with the question, Bruce was unsure. But he couldn’t bring himself to lie any longer.

“Yes.” He mumbled after a few seconds of heavy silence.

“You know, Master Bruce, I do not like to pry. But a few distressing things have taken my attention since the night of the subway attack.”

“Like what?”

“I cannot help but feel as though you have hidden something that happened that night. Perhaps you downplayed the horror for my sake. Or maybe something else occurred with the Joker down in those tunnels.”

_His heart wasn’t beating…rib cracked under the weight of the CPR…_

“I…” His voice caught.

_Limp body, the smell of flesh, Joker’s lips on his, his arms around him, wanting him –_

Bruce stood up suddenly, skin alight, his thoughts bumping around in his skull. “I can’t. I…”

Alfred tilted his face back a little to look at him. “Master Bruce, whatever happened in those tunnels…or afterwards…I won’t judge you.”

“Yes, you will,” He replied without thinking, struggling against the onslaught of conflicting memories, “How could – how could you not? What I did and have done – it’s unthinkable…it’s…” The panic attack that loomed all night threatened to break which only made Bruce feel worse, “I killed him.”

The words hung in the air. Alfred opened his mouth to reply but it was as if a dam broke. Bruce suddenly couldn’t stop the words falling from him in a dirty heap at his feet.

“I killed him in the tunnels. He was dead. His heart stopped. I only brought him back with an electrical charge. And then I just…I just let him go. I could have stopped him, taken him to Arkham or to the police but I felt so _bad_ about what I did…I was so horrified that I lost control and took it too far…the way it was down there…charred bodies and searing heat, burned flesh and utter chaos and he _laughed._ He laughed in my face like it was funny. All those bodies and those people killed, and he just laughed as if it was a game.

And the worst part is in the months afterwards and with what has happened since the monorail hijacking, I think…late at night, I think about how he looked when he was dead. And seeing him there. And this thought that took root and won’t let me shake it because I feel so ashamed and horrified to think that it wasn’t just the fact I lost control and killed him that bothers me so much but that he was dead and would no longer be here where I could see him, talk to him.” Bruce let out a dry laugh, “It’s disgusting, isn’t it? Someone like him…he’s a monster, a sociopath, he’s killed innocents, he has haunted my every moment since his arrival in Gotham and yet when I saw his body at my feet, I shattered into a thousand pieces.”

He stopped then, remembering where he was and who he spoke to. He had been pacing during his entire rant in front of the fireplace. Alfred watched him silently. Bruce stopped pacing, looked at him, waited for the lecture.

But instead, Alfred asked quietly, “And now, Master Bruce?”

“And now what?”

“How do you feel about the Joker now?”

Bruce didn’t understand why Alfred wasn’t disgusted or horrified. He _needed_ that. He needed Alfred to detest him for his actions. He wanted that look of loathing because it was what he deserved for what he did. Why wasn’t Alfred giving it to him?

“How do I feel about him now?” Bruce repeated, the panic cresting like a massive wave in his chest. “You know how I feel.”

“No, I don’t.”

But Alfred did. Bruce knew he did. He was going to make him say it, wasn’t he? To pollute the air with what he had been doing.

“I’ve been doing things I shouldn’t be doing with him. I’ve been sneaking out to see him and allowing him in my wing of the manor and we’ve been sleeping together,” His voice caught but he forced himself to go on, “Repeatedly. I’ve been with him repeatedly.” Bruce took a step forward, dropping to his knees in front of Alfred. His chest cracked and his vision blurred with tears. “Just say it. Tell me I fucked up. Tell me you’re disappointed in me.”

Alfred carefully took his hands, “Bruce, look at me.”

He had to force himself to look upwards. His cheeks burned but he didn’t speak.

“I’ve watched you struggle these past months since the subway attack. I’ve seen your trauma and how it has altered you. Every night, you go out into Gotham as Batman to protect the people and give no thought to yourself. You have no one else who can shoulder this burden. Everything has been on you 100 percent of the time for years. Since the subway attack, I’ve noticed an increase in your symptoms. The nightmares, the jumpiness, the avoidance of anything that reminds you of that night, and your connection to the Joker – which has always been there – grow stronger like a moth to the flame.”

“My symptoms?”

“Bruce, I believe you have PTSD from the night of the subway tunnels.” Alfred said gently.

He stared at Alfred, letting the words sink in. PTSD was not something new to him. He was diagnosed with it as a child after the murder of his parents. He knew his control issues stemmed from it and…to be honest, so did becoming Batman. Even so, the idea of the subway attack bringing it on anew had never crossed his mind.

“What are you saying?” Bruce said stupidly.

“You’re pushing yourself far too much. Juggling being Batman, put into a corner by Joker, trying to keep everything still in control…you can’t keep it up. Not for your mental health. Not for yourself.”

“PTSD doesn’t justify what I am doing with the Joker.” Bruce countered.

“You have always had a connection to the Joker, no matter how much we would like to ignore it. Since his appearance, he has been your polar opposite in every way and yet the two of you circle each other like sharks sensing blood. The night of the subway attack didn’t just scar you. It did the same on him, regardless of if he realizes it or not. If you did kill him, that only cements your connection further in a way no one would understand,” Alfred patted his hands, “When Joker revealed he knew you were Bruce Wayne, how did you truly feel?”

“Relieved.” Bruce admitted.

“And why is that?”

“I wanted him to know,” He chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, “He always says ‘ _I see you_ ’ and he does. Somehow.”

“Do you see him?”

Bruce thought about all the interactions he had with Joker since the monorail hijacking. The way that he hadn’t controlled anything that occurred and yet somehow knew what to expect from Joker. He knew how he thought and what made him tick.

A random memory from the night Joker broke in and used his tub floated to Bruce. What had he told him that night?

_“When I attacked you in the subway tunnel, when you went limp and looked dead and I couldn’t get you to breathe…that changed something in me. You were right. It was transformative. But not in the way you wanted. It made me realize that no one is untouchable. Everyone can be pushed to the limits or teeter off a ledge. But I saved you. I made sure to do everything I could to bring you back. That’s the difference between us. You revel in your lack of self-control. You want me to join you in it. But I can’t. And I won’t. Even if I fail sometimes.”_

“Yes, I think I do.” Bruce admitted as the memory ended. “The only thing that separates us is my code. When I broke it, I thought…maybe I am not so different as him. Maybe I thought in understanding him, I could understand myself.”

“Bruce, you realize that at the core, the Joker and you are not alike. Yes, you lost control in a horribly traumatic situation and did something that you cannot forgive yourself for. But does that mean you are the same as someone who has killed and injured innocents and caused chaos around Gotham?”

“What does it say about me that I feel…that I feel this way about him though?” He got to his feet once more, anguished, “What does that mean about who I am as a person if I want him around? If I sleep with him? Fine, maybe I don’t create violence at the level he does but if I am with him, I am writing off on it – allowing it. People already think I am working with the Joker. Imagine if they knew what we were really doing. And it isn’t just the public I worry about. It is what it means about who I am as a person.”

“Then it boils down to your own moral code. The one you broke when you killed Joker and the one you continue to break by being with him. Every moment you are with him, you go against your soul. Every moment you go along with your code, you live the life you deem as correct, but it will be at the cost of him. You have to choose.” Alfred said quietly.

Bruce stared at him for a long moment. He thought of the panic attacks that began after he started having sex with Joker. The Penguin killing innocents because he was with him. Letting Gotham ease out of his control, even if he hadn’t fully realized it. The guilt that ate away at him for not just being with the Joker, but the nature of his feelings for someone like him. The nature of his feelings for him…

_“I can’t keep leading you to it. Why don’t you try some fucking self-reflection for once?”_

He shook his head. “I have to go find him.”

Alfred gave a slight nod, standing up. “I imagine you do, Master Bruce.”

He grabbed his jacket but stopped. Quickly, he walked towards Alfred before crushing him in a hug. “Thank you.”

“You don’t need to shoulder everything alone, you know. When this is over with, we can discuss what we are going to do about making sure not everything falls on you.” Alfred replied as the hug broke.

“Right,” He exhaled slowly – asking for help was hard, “I do need you to do something as I go see Joker.”

“You want me to look for entrance points to the ruined subway tunnels, I assume.”

“Joker kept me in the safe house underground. I think the tape will be there. But the backups will be elsewhere.”

“And where do you think that will be?”

Bruce swallowed hard. _I see you._

“The place where I killed him.”

_I see you too, Joker._

*

Bruce was unsure where Joker had gone after their fight. The first thing he did while getting in his car was run a search for any possible criminal activity tied to him, but nothing came up. That was a relief. Joker would be at one of his hideouts then, but where?

He debated circling around to where they were earlier, but he doubted Joker would have returned. In fact, as he ruminated on each safe house, none of them seemed likely. Neither did the bar where Joker had taken him that night.

Bruce was idly driving down one of the streets in Gotham, thinking about their fight and his conversation with Alfred. The earlier panic and disgust at himself had been replaced with a crystal-clear certainty about what he needed to do as well as being grateful Alfred hadn’t given him the rebuke he so desperately thought he deserved. No matter what Alfred really thought about Bruce being with Joker, he had shown only understanding and support. How could he ever repay that?

It was then he knew where Joker would be.

*

The clock tower raised against the night sky, illuminated by the moon that hung heavily among the rain clouds still covering Gotham in a light drizzle. Bruce parked the car and began the short trek across the park towards the tower. If Joker was up there, he would see him coming. He knew it was a risk to be so exposed like this. There was a chance Joker could be furious and not thinking clearly, shoot him from the top of the tower and leave him here. Bruce doubted it. Perhaps eight months ago that would happen but being shot was no longer an issue.

The temperature dropped considerably since Bruce left the manor. It was almost three in the morning now. He crossed his arms, tugging his jacket closer around him, the biting cold seeping through the material.

The clock tower steps awaited him, like they had all that time ago when this begun. How different the world was now compared to that night of the stabbing. The anxiety and fear that originally propelled him up the staircase had been replaced now with something else – a certainty of what he needed to do and who he was.

When he got to the top of the steps, the Joker was in front of the open space where the clock should reside. Like last time, his back faced Bruce. No longer wearing the clothes from earlier, he was in a full light purple suit with green accents, all the way down to the dress shoes which had green laces.

“Joker.” Bruce spoke first.

He looked over his shoulder at him. His makeup, now reapplied, was neat and clean, put on with a steady hand. His cane rested against the wall, but Joker reached for it now, leaning against it as he walked a few steps towards Bruce.

“How did you know I’d be here?”

He shrugged. “I just knew.”

Joker chewed on this for a moment before speaking. “Out with it then.”

He knew. Bruce wasn’t surprised. That was the connection between them, after all, and sleeping together only resulted in making it stronger.

“I can’t keep seeing you in the manner we have been seeing each other.”

Joker’s lip curled. “You mean fucking? You prefer the old way. The fighting and mayhem.”

“No, I don’t prefer it. I’d rather be with you. But you’re right. There is only one way this can end, and it isn’t running off together. There cannot be a you and I and also Batman. They can’t coexist.”

“And you can’t give up being Batman, is that it?”

“No. I can’t.”

Joker clicked his tongue against the roof his mouth. “Too many ties to the world, isn’t that right, Bruce? Your business. Batman. Your butler. These things that hold so much importance to you. More than I hold.”

“Don’t do that. This isn’t about what holds the most importance and you know it. This is about who I am. You were right about me. I am too afraid to look inward, too afraid of what lurks inside me. That darkness that pushes me, the moral code that must keep me on the line that separates what I do from what you do. I need to be Batman. It’s what I am meant to do. And I can’t be Batman and stand by as you kill or injure people or terrorize Gotham. You know that.”

“Yes,” He scowled, “Yes, I know. I just wasn’t sure how long it would take you to figure it out. How long our dalliance would last before you had to do the proper thing. It’s nauseating, you know, that moral compass of yours. You would be better off without it.”

“Like you?”

Joker shrugged.

Bruce crossed the space between them, reached out for Joker’s hand that rested on top of the cane. The gloves were back on and the leather was cold underneath his hand.

“Joker,” He whispered, “Look at me.”

For a second, Bruce thought he wouldn’t obey. In their time together, it had been Joker issuing commands and it might not be well received at this moment. But he tilted his face to look down at Bruce, his eyes filled with more emotion than he had ever seen before. They moved like the tides, exposing the depth of feelings there – the type of feelings Bruce didn’t think Joker could ever have.

“You shouldn’t have had to lead me to this. But I understand it now. What you were trying to show me.”

“And what was that?”

“Who I am. My driving force in this world. What’s important to me. And the choice I needed to make. To make peace in myself for my actions. I need to forgive myself for what I did to you. Like you did.”

Something across his gaze flickered. “How do you know I forgave you for killing me?”

His fingers tapped against Joker’s glove. “Tonight. When you removed them and showed me a piece of you no one else had seen. Just like I showed you in the tunnels.”

“Oh, Bruce,” Joker sighed, a remnant of long ago, “I hate you so much.”

He leaned forward then, and their lips touched. Joker was soft underneath him, familiar in a way Bruce never thought he would be, and when the kiss finished, their foreheads touched, eyes closed.

“What am I supposed to do the next time you show up in that ridiculous suit of yours?” Joker murmured, his lips brushing against Bruce’s.

“What you always do,” He pulled away, “Cause trouble.”

Joker opened his eyes, looking anguished, “Seeing you will drive me to madness.”

“Then we’ll both be mad.”

Bruce left a soft kiss on Joker’s forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment.

“Perhaps we will be together again one day,” Joker whispered in a voice that felt like soft fabric against his cheek, “When the stars go out, the tides rise and sweep across cities, or a full moon never leaves the sky. Stranger things have happened.”

Bruce took a step back, taking in the sight of Joker, “Yes. Stranger things have happened.”

Their time together, magnified by its intensity, coming to an end. Bruce was unsure how he was going to mourn this loss. He knew in his heart that he couldn’t be with Joker in that way any longer. But to lose someone who understood him on a level no one else could ever come close…how did one move on from that?

He turned around, walking towards the stairs.

“Bruce,” Joker called out, and he looked over his shoulder, “Your ties to this life you chose…” He seemed to be weighing his words carefully, “Make sure they are enough for you.”

He turned around then, clearly not wanting to watch Bruce depart. He took in a shaky breath and began the walk down the stairs.

With each step, the months turned to stone, cemented in his heart forever.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> patreon: https://www.patreon.com/lylabanks
> 
> buy me a coffee: https://ko-fi.com/ryohazuki

_In his dream, Joker awaited him on the top of a massive bed. Candles formed a circle around the bed frame, flickering shadows across Joker’s face. As Bruce moved towards him, he realized that blood was oozing out of Joker’s mouth, down his chin, staining his white dress shirt._

_“Come here, Bats,” Joker called out to him, extending a slender hand, “Don’t be shy.” His razor-sharp teeth, filed into fine points, glinted in the candlelight._

_A great big full moon suddenly appeared above the bed, hanging heavy in the sky, low enough that Bruce could reach out and touch it if he so desired. Beyond the moonlight was an empty void that faintly smelled of smoke. The hair on the back of his neck stood up._

_He looked down at Joker’s hand. The gloves were gone, and the ruined flesh was exposed. The scent of smoke grew heavier, tickling the back of Bruce’s throat. The blood kept pouring out of Joker’s mouth, filling the air with the thick scent, strangling Bruce. Joker’s white dress shirt was covered in it now, sticking to his skin, grin widening as it stretched out his face._

_“I can’t.” Bruce tried to say but his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth._

_Joker grabbed his hand and tugged him in one sharp movement onto the bed, underneath the full moon. Bruce landed on his back, Joker above him. The blood smeared onto his own clothes, dripped onto his skin. Joker looked like a monster, face entirely in shadow, the moon bright directly behind him._

_“Bruce,” He said in a voice that no longer belonged to him – it belonged to a snake, a monster under a bed, the thing that creeps up behind you in the dead of night, “Admit it.”_

_“Admit what?” But the words never left his mouth. The scent of smoke and blood was overpowering, Bruce was gagging on it, thinking he might throw up._

_“Stranger things have happened.” Joker whispered in a voice that made Bruce think of stars going out, nails against his spine, shackles around his hands._

_“Joker,” He managed to wheeze out, blood coming out of his own mouth now, pouring down his chin, onto his clothes, choking him – impossible to breathe – “Joker, I –”_

Bruce woke up in a cold sweat, gasping for air, kicking his sheets off him. His head turned sharply side to side, looking for the danger, chest burning. Getting out of bed, he walked towards the window, yanking the curtains apart. The moon was a sliver of a thing up in the sky, obscured by dark clouds.

“Just a dream.” He whispered to no one.

There was no one to whisper to, not anymore. Had it only been one night since the break-up with the Joker? It had been the only thing on his mind since leaving him atop the clock tower. His feelings swirled around him and it was impossible to deny that he was experiencing…heartbreak. Bruce didn’t have the energy to beat himself up over missing someone like the Joker. He just allowed himself to feel it.

Alfred, having mapped out all entrances to the ruined subway tunnels, was concerned the longer they waited to retrieve the confession tape, the more likely it was that Joker would blast it over Gotham. Bruce understood the urgency and was planning to go into the subway tunnels tomorrow night to retrieve the tape. Would tonight have been better? Yes, he supposed it would. But his heart was heavy and the idea of running into those cursed tunnels to find the tape was too much to do in a single night. Besides, somehow he knew Joker would want to blow his cover in an explosive manner – hijack Gotham’s news station and play it that way, burst into the stadium during Friday’s big game and play it on the big screens in there – it wouldn’t be a quiet affair.

No, Bruce knew that Joker would be licking his wounds and mourning the end of their relationship until exploding back onto the scene. He would put together a show. He probably didn’t think Bruce would go into the tunnels. He didn’t blame him – he still couldn’t believe he would have to do such a thing. But there was no way around it. Stealing back the confession tape would pull all the power out of Joker’s hands and leave them on the ground they originally had been on.

No, but that wasn’t quite right, was it? No matter how much time passed, there would be no erasing what happened between them. There would be no return to original ground. They had slept together numerous times, held each other afterwards, Bruce craving him every second he was gone, allowing Batman to be placed on the back burner…which resulted in the death of innocents.

It was a lesson not to be forgotten. Just like when Alfred told him he believed Bruce was suffering from PTSD. He knew, hadn’t he, deep down? Everything Bruce knew was buried deep down, rarely allowed to surface. Since the subway attack, he plunged into the depths of himself…with the help of the Joker.

His phone vibrated, still on the bed. For a split second, Bruce hoped it was _him._ But he shook it away. Foolish to wish something like that. Instead, he was surprised to see Lucius Fox was calling him. It had just hit midnight. A bad time to call.

“Mr. Fox. Everything alright?” Bruce asked.

“Mr. Wayne. I’m sorry if I woke you.”

“No, it’s fine. I was awake.” There was an edge in Lucius’s voice that Bruce misliked.

“I know I am going to sound…perhaps a bit paranoid. This could be nothing. I could contact the police if you would like…”

“What is it?”

“Well, I was working late. Just checking on the security measures like we had discussed…and I found something a bit unusual.”

The dream gone from his mind, Bruce held the phone tightly. “What is it?” He repeated.

“There seems to be something underneath Wayne Corp. Under the building. Under the parking garage. My sensors are picking up something there and it keeps growing. As if its being added to it.”

“Who else is in the building?” Bruce said, already leaving his room to head down to the bat cave.

“Skeleton staff, mostly cleaning crew. I’ll evacuate them right now and call the police.” Lucius picked up on his tone immediately.

“Okay, thanks for letting me know.”

“Mr. Wayne –”

Bruce ended the call. Alfred was already behind him as they entered the bat cave. The man missed nothing, could awaken by a stir in the air that meant danger. It had been foolish thinking that he would not be aware of the turn Bruce’s relationship had taken with the Joker.

He recapped Alfred on what was going on as the cold air of the bat cave caused goosebumps to break out across his skin. Yet it wasn’t until Alfred spoke that Bruce understood what was truly going on.

“Master Bruce, we both know who is behind this.”

Bruce stopped in front of the bat suit. “You think it’s him? But that doesn’t make any sense. It doesn’t…” He trailed off, trying to understand Joker’s motivation. “Why would he want to blow up Wayne Corp before telling people I’m Batman?”

“Perhaps he isn’t telling anyone you’re Batman.”

It hit Bruce then. What Joker was doing. No matter how much he thought he understood him, there would always be some element of surprise.

“You researched the subway tunnels?”

“Yes, Master Bruce. I know of every entrance to the subway. We have the safe house coordinates from the map photos you took. Shall I upload the coordinates?”

“Just give me the subway entrance markers. Joker won’t be keeping the tapes at the safe house anymore,” He grimaced, “If everything goes to plan, tonight will be the end of this.”

*

Bruce did not head directly to Wayne Corp. Joker would not blow the bombs underneath the building until he saw him, after all, and there was no point in drawing more crowds by the arrival of Batman. It would be easier to go underground directly and find Joker directly underneath the building. Joker would be waiting for him.

It was snowing by the time he took off across Gotham City. Forgoing the batmobile, not wanting to attract attention, he soared across the sky, taking gulps of air. Soon, he would be underneath Gotham. There would be no fresh air, just constant reminders of death and despair. But Joker forced his hand, and he couldn’t wait now until tomorrow night.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred crackled to life in his ear, “A reminder that once you’re underground, I am unsure if I’ll be able to keep in contact with you.”

“I know.” He replied tersely.

“Are you going after the confession tape first?”

“Joker and the tape will be in the same location now. He wants me at Wayne Corp. I can’t risk him blowing up the building.”

“Do you think he will have the tape playing near the building?” Alfred asked.

“No. This isn’t about exposing my identity.” _It’s about the breakup. Exposing my identity is secondary._

Bruce landed in front of an old access point for the subway tunnels. From the schematics pulled up on his minicomputer, he knew this would be a shortcut to underneath Wayne Corp.

This was the moment. He would be going underground to face Joker. So much time had passed since that night and yet it was as if no time truly passed at all.

“I’m going underground now.” He told Alfred.

“Remember that although you might not be able to control your situation, you can control how you handle it. You are stronger than your automatic reactions.”

“Right. I’ll try to keep it in mind.” Bruce replied as he opened the door to the subway access.

The stale air hit him immediately. Switching to night vision on the cowl, he began his descent. With each step, his heart beat faster. His connection to Alfred crackled in his ear; soon, he would be alone. No, not entirely alone. Joker was waiting for him.

After a couple minutes, Bruce was in one of the ruined subway tunnels. The place stunk of ash and he wondered if he was breathing in body parts too. Not everyone was found in the tunnels. Bodies could still…

He caught his thoughts spinning, tried to pull them back under his control. Alfred was right. He could not control his situation. He had tried. Every interaction with Joker, Bruce attempted to wrangle control of everything and thought it was a failing on his part when nothing went how he wanted it. But now he understood that it was impossible to control everything, including Joker. Losing control the night of the subway and killing Joker made him think that if he controlled everything from that moment on, he wouldn’t slip up again.

But it didn’t work that way. That wasn’t how life played out – that was what PTSD told him. His automatic reactions to being underground would be one of horror and fear but he would need to combat that with reminding himself that he could still decide what happened to him and how to handle it.

Bruce wasn’t sure it would work. But it was better than what he had tried before.

It didn’t take long to find Joker’s hideaway spot underneath Wayne Corps. There was a section of tunnel blown out that would lead directly under the building. Bruce wasn’t sure how long the tunnel had been here. Was blowing up Wayne Corp an old plan of his now revisited due to their break-up? Seemed that way.

Ducking into the tunnel, which was much too narrow for Bruce’s liking, he hurried towards Joker. Unsure how he was going to approach him this time, Bruce marveled at how different this encounter would be. Any other time he would be focused on taking Joker down, locking him up and waiting for the day he would escape. But this time, there was a real history between them, a mutual understanding that formed between the unlikeliest of men and he was unsure how it would affect the outcome.

The tunnel widened near the end and Bruce could see light. Turning off the night vision, he swallowed hard and stepped out into the space underneath Wayne Corp. 

Joker was in the center of a vast array of explosions. Lights typically used for nighttime construction sites were running off generators, flooding the space with brightness. The explosions were stacked on each other, reaching the top of the cavern. It must have been his entire stockpile in this space. The explosion would certainly knock out the foundation of Wayne Corp and bring it down across the city.

But it wasn’t the sight of the explosions that brought Bruce to a standstill. It was Joker in the middle of it all. Instead of his typical purple and green suit, he was dressed in white finery. His gloves were white, encrusted with pearls, which matched the white suit perfectly tailored to fit him. His back was to Bruce, who struggled with seeing the Joker dressed so properly. It was beautiful. It was unsettling.

“Joker.” Bruce shattered the silence.

He flinched, looked over his shoulder before turning around. His jacket had large pearl buttons that matched his gloves, makeup applied expertly with bright red lips and face paint the same color as his suit, hair combed out and neatly arranged. When he saw Bruce, his lips curled for a moment before a grin broke out, wide and unsettling.

“Wasn’t sure how long I had to wait.”

“What’s the plan here, Joker? Blow up Wayne Corp?”

Joker outstretched his hands, spinning in a slow circle. “I did this for you, Bruce! It’s all for you!” He tilted his head back as if looking up at the night sky and closed his eyes. Purple eyeshadow glittered in the lights.

“Why would I want Wayne Corp blown up?” Bruce asked patiently, knowing if he could get Joker to launch in a monologue, it would give him more time to find a way to stop the bombs from going off.

“Because this is just one of the material ties to the world that you don’t need. Don’t you get it?” He was walking towards Bruce now, slowly as if he were a dying deer, trying not to startle him. His bad legged dragged slightly behind him, having never fully healed from the car crash so long ago. “If these ties are gone, you’d understand what you’re really meant to be doing.”

“Which is?”

“Being with me.” Joker stopped walking. “You said it yourself. That you have your connections to this world. Being Batman. Being Bruce Wayne. I can’t exist in either of those worlds. But if Wayne Corp was gone, if your identity as Batman is gone, then all you have is me,” He paused, looking thoughtful, “And the butler. You’d have me and the butler. What else do you need?”

Bruce took a slow breath, trying to work through the various emotions all vying for his attention. There was anger, frustration, fear, and something else, deep down, trying to break through, but Bruce wasn’t sure what.

“You want to erase who I am just to be with you,” He replied, “You don’t want me at all. You want a me that cannot exist without you.”

“Bruce, we can’t exist without each other. There is no ‘me’, only ‘us’. You know it, deep down. I’m just erasing the bullshit that keeps us from one another.”

“By what? Killing innocents? You blow up Wayne Corp and the damage will take down other buildings. You’d be destabilizing the ground for miles. After all this time, you still think proving we are supposed to be together is through murder and chaos.”

Joker’s eyes darkened. “Why are you being so stubborn, Bruce? I did this for you. I dressed like this _for you._ Don’t you get it?” He grabbed Bruce’s hands, squeezed them hard as he stared down at him. “The suit, the explosions, the promise to be with you.”

Bruce did. Although he wished he didn’t. Joker in wedding finery. The explosions to erase the past. The promise of Alfred’s safety and them being together.

“Where’s the confession tape?” Bruce asked.

Joker’s face fell.

“Is it at the safe house in the tunnels? What about the back-ups? I’ll find them but it would be faster if you tell me.”

Joker pulled away from him. Bruce didn’t want to act cold, but his instincts were screaming and the noise in his head was growing loud. He wished Joker would have done something else, anything else, then dress up in a wedding suit and try to blow up Wayne Corp. The fact Bruce was underground didn’t help. A bank robbery, breaking into some event and kidnapping people – anything would have been better than such a personal plea to Bruce to take him back and be with him.

Joker slipped one gloved hand into his jacket and pulled three flash drives out of the pocket before tossing them at Bruce’s feet.

“There. That’s all of them. The original and the two backups. And if you don’t believe me, why don’t you beat the shit out of me and find out?” Joker’s tone was empty.

Even if these weren’t all of them, once Bruce got Joker in Arkham, he could find the others. He trusted Joker enough that he wouldn’t have given any copies to his henchmen. This secret between them was far too personal. All that mattered was Bruce retrieved the ones on Joker right now.

He brought his foot up and slammed it across the flash drives. They cracked underneath the force. Bruce grinded his heavy boot against the drives until they were nothing but dust against the cavern floor. “Were you going to run these?”

“After I destroyed Wayne Corp,” Joker replied glumly, looking at the dust, “Figured I’d send it to Vicki Vale. She’s always hovering around, after all. Might as well give her the scoop. Then you wouldn’t be able to be Batman either.”

“It’s over, Joker. The police have surrounded Wayne Corp. I’m taking you to Arkham.” Bruce reached out for him.

He recoiled, lips pressed in a thin line. “I’m not going back there, Bruce. I’ll kill myself before we go there. If you won’t have me…then…”

Before Joker could try to set off the explosives or do anything else rash, Bruce lunged. This time, he caught Joker by surprise. They collided, toppling onto the ground together, Bruce on top of him. He had Joker pinned, his thin frame underneath Bruce’s hulking one – stronger in the bat suit, Joker didn’t have a chance.

“I’m cutting this short.” He declared. “No more speeches. You’re going to Arkham.”

“Where you can always keep an eye on me, Bruce?” Joker snarled, “You barely cared I had the confession tape all this time. Admit that it was an excuse,” His words were ragged, Bruce was pressing on Joker’s chest with his weight and cutting off his air, “Admit that you used that as an excuse to see me.”

“I used it as an excuse to see you.” Bruce admitted, giving himself permission to be honest.

Surprise flickered across Joker’s face. It quickly was replaced by the same distant, furious expression. “You can’t expect me to run around town, seeing you constantly and being okay,” He tried to gasp for air but none was forthcoming, “You can’t lock me up in Arkham to be tormented by these memories. It isn’t fair.”

“No, it isn’t. But you don’t get to check out because you don’t want to remember what was between us. I have to live with it too, don’t I?”

Joker tried to speak but the lack of air was getting to him. His mouth opened like a fish, he wiggled for a second before going still, staring up at Bruce resentfully. Still, he didn’t protest. Joker’s hands went up, but not to try to push him off. Instead, he grabbed Bruce’s hands and placed them around his neck – a motion from so long ago that Bruce’s own chest tightened.

Bruce squeezed Joker’s neck, hard, harder – until Joker was starting to go limp for another reason other than rage. His eyes were wide, still staring up at him, pleading behind the carefully constructed persona he spent so long creating for Bruce. Pleading for release.

That was when he released his weight off Joker’s chest, allowing air to fill his lungs. He coughed hard as Bruce slid off him, turning onto his side and gasping for air. Bruce stood above him, looking down, the memory of that fateful night crashing to his feet and shattering. He exhaled slowly, steadily.

“Do you understand?” Bruce asked.

Joker took a deep breath of air, closing his eyes. Bruce knew he understood. He had brought Joker close to death and stopped once more. But the difference was he had been in control of himself the entire time. He applied the pressure to exactly where he wanted it, allowed himself to recreate that moment, hands around Joker’s thin neck, looking down at him, showed Joker how far he could go – and stopped. He understood himself on a deeper level than before…and Alfred was right. _You are stronger than your automatic reactions._ He was.

Joker finally opened his eyes, one hand on his chest as he gasped for air. He turned his face slightly to look up at Bruce, face inscrutable. Bruce didn’t speak, let the message sink between them. Joker wouldn’t be allowed to blow himself up because they couldn’t be together, leaving Bruce to suffer alone.

“I love you, Bruce.” He spat out viciously, seemingly furious at not only himself but Bruce as well.

He leaned down and grabbed Joker up by his suit jacket. No longer white, now grimy and dirty from being tossed to the cavern floor, hair messy, he looked more like himself than a man coming here for one last plea to be together.

“I never had a chance, did I?” Joker mused aloud as Bruce tied his hands behind his back with some strong rope from the cavern floor.

“Let’s go.” He said neutrally, giving Joker a shove forward.

He lapsed into silence. The two men didn’t speak the entire walk out of the cavern and down the subway tunnel. They stopped in front of the door leading back to the world. Bruce could hear sirens, could smell fresh air. He skin was crawling, he wanted above ground desperately.

“Police will take you to Arkham,” Bruce said, “I’ll follow in my car, make sure they get you in a cell.”

“You’ll come say good-bye, Bruce?” Joker asked, looking at him over his shoulder.

Bruce nodded. Joker stood up straighter then, looked out at the sliver of grey sky. “Alright, Bats. Let’s go.”

Together, they stepped onto the streets of Gotham City.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update will be both the final chapter and the epilogue!


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> patreon: https://www.patreon.com/lylabanks
> 
> buy me a coffee: https://ko-fi.com/ryohazuki

“We have new cells underneath Gotham,” Jeremiah Arkham, the director of the building, was saying, “High security. We’re going to put him there. He’ll be the first one.”

“Oh good, I’m the guinea pig.” Joker said wickedly, looking over his shoulder and flashing a smile as the guards trudged down the long corridor.

“Shut up.” One of the guards growled.

Joker pouted. “Hear that, Bats? Aren’t you gonna defend me?” He burst into high, pealing laughter.

_His persona is back,_ Bruce thought glumly, _this is how it is going to be from now on, isn’t it? But I choose this. I know it’s the right choice. Even so…_ Free from the subway tunnels, his head was starting to return to normal. Joker in his wedding suit. Makeup carefully applied. Wanting death over not being together. _I love you, Bruce._

“Who is going to be his doctor?” Bruce asked, the cowl modulating his voice to be unrecognizable.

“We have a few in the mix. But most don’t want to touch him. We all remember last time too well still.” The group approached a large elevator.

The guards turned Joker around, facing Bruce and Dr. Arkham, “Was that the time I ripped out that nurse’s throat?” He frowned. “Or was that when I gutted that guard? They kind of blend together.” Breaking out into laughter again, Bruce could feel the disgust in the air at the creature in front of them.

But Joker was no longer a creature to him. He was the darkness inside Bruce, the battle he fought daily, the one person on the planet that saw him for what he was, good and bad, someone who wanted to break him down and rebuild him so they could run away together – who loved him. Joker had wanted to strip him of Wayne Corp and of being Batman. Bruce could have let him. Instead, he chose his code. He chose Batman.

“Get him in the cell,” Dr. Arkham said with a look of loathing clear on his face, “We’ll be there shortly.”

As the elevator doors closed, Joker winked at Bruce. The thick metal of the elevator doors sealed and began to lower to the depths of Arkham Asylum.

“I didn’t want to ride down with him. We can take another elevator.” He motioned for Bruce to follow to a smaller service elevator.

As they stepped inside, Bruce resumed his questioning, “Who are the possible doctors for him?”

“I got two or three. I have a new one who just started here recently and is jumping to psychoanalyze the Joker. Clearly, she wants to prove herself, but I don’t know if she would make a good fit.” The service elevator took them downward. _Back underground,_ he thought but at least it would be a proper underground area with hallways and exits unlike the subway tunnels.

“Who is she?” Bruce asked as they stepped out of the elevator. Joker’s one still hadn’t arrived because it would stop for one more security check before finally coming down.

“Dr. Arkham!” A voice rang out.

A small figure hurried out of a nearby office. In her white coat and blonde hair up in a neat bun, thick glasses on her face, with wide bright eyes, Bruce knew immediately this was the new doctor so eager to prove herself.

“Dr. Quinzel,” Jeremiah said with a note of reproach, “I thought you were done for the night. How do you have access to this floor?”

“Sorry, boss, but with the news of the Joker arriving, how could I go home?” The woman had a Brooklyn accent and a beaming smile. “I wanted to plead my case for being assigned to the Joker.” She seemed disinterested in the appearance of Batman standing in front of her.

“We’re still deciding.”

“Boss, no one else wants him. I can take him on. He just needs a loving hand, someone who will truly listen to him.”

Alarmed, Bruce studied the woman. Joker had recently received a loving hand…multiple times to be exact…and still wanted to blow up buildings and sow chaos.

“A loving hand?” Dr. Arkham scoffed. “That’s the last thing he needs. He should be locked up and have the key tossed away.”

“That isn’t what we do here, sir,” Dr. Quinzel replied firmly. She was going to say more when an alarm bleated, signaling Joker’s arrival.

The elevator doors opened, guards heaving him out. Joker was still grinning and when his eyes landed on Dr. Quinzel, he smiled harder. It unsettled Bruce – the way Joker looked at her wasn’t the same way he looked at him. It was a predator sensing an easy target.

“Wow, doc, who knew you had such beauties locked away in here?” He crooned.

Dr. Quinzel immediately grew flustered, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “I was just talking to the director here about becoming your doctor.”

“My, well, if I get someone as lovely as you, I think I’ll be cured right away…” He trailed off, waiting for her name.

“Dr. Harleen Quinzel.” She said bashfully.

“Get him out of here.” Jeremiah snapped and Joker was dragged down the hallway. “Dr. Quinzel, go home. We’ll contact you if needed.”

Annoyance flickered across her face, quickly replaced by a smile. “Of course. Have a good night.” She lowered her head for a moment before turning sharply on her heel and marching towards the service elevator.

When the doors closed, Jeremiah gave a small shake of his head. “See what I mean? Come on.” He motioned for Bruce to follow.

They walked down the hallway. To the right were cells with thick iron doors, one tiny window to allow food to be delivered. On the left was a large control room which Bruce was led into.

“These are the high security cells. But we have a few ultra-secure ones we just finished building.” Jeremiah Arkham motioned to the monitors. Bruce could see Joker being escorted through a metal door, down a hallway with three more security clearances, and then finally the cell itself.

“We’re going to put him in there. Have sessions through the door with bars. Guards in there at all times. No windows. No way out. Three security clearances in and out. I think this will hold him.”

It appeared that it would. With a set up like this, Bruce was unsure if he would ever see Joker again. The thought filled him with dread. Locking him up underground with no way out…no sliver of hope…

“I want to talk to him before I leave.” Bruce said, knowing he had told Joker he would say good-bye.

“Fine. If he tries anything, we’ll have guards there and the cameras. I trust you can handle yourself. Not too worried about you seeing him. I’m going back up to work on the paperwork for this and to make sure Harleen left for real. Go up the elevator when you’re done.” The director hurried out then, leaving Bruce alone.

The cameras showed Joker sitting on the bed in his cell. They had already pulled him out of the white suit, the gloves were gone as well. He wondered if that bothered him. Joker was always allowed his makeup in Arkham. The one time they tried to deny him it, three guards had died. Some allocations had to be made to deal with his sort. But secretly, Bruce was relieved. Vicki Vale had seen Joker without makeup the night of the botanical party. If she happened to see Joker in here, some connections could be discovered, as unlikely of a chance that would be.

Bruce brought up the mobile bat computer on his glove, decrypting the camera network in under two minutes. Calmly, he halted the live feed, looping it with the empty hallways, Joker in his cell. He did the same thing with the audio, shutting off the microphones located near the cell. He didn’t want their meeting recorded and although he doubted anyone would review the footage, it would be better to leave no trace.

Bruce left the monitor room, was given clearance through the security checkpoints and stepped into the cell containing Joker. Two guards were by the door, which was a traditional door with bars. When they saw Bruce, they excused themselves. No one doubted if Batman could handle Joker trying anything and the guards looked weary from being around Joker, already wanting a break.

Joker looked up from his cot. With no one else around, the act he had been putting on since stepping foot into Arkham vanished. Now, he just looked tired and burnt out. Bruce unlocked the gate with the decrypt key he downloaded onto the computer and stepped inside the cell.

“Oh, you’re coming in this time? A sure sign of the times.” Joker joked but it was hollow, landing at Bruce’s feet with a dull thud, “You see this fancy new cage, Bats? I don’t think I’m getting out of this one.”

“I came to say good-bye.” It was cold in here, Bruce thought, and he worried about Joker’s leg in this place. He was worried about leaving him here in general, he realized.

Joker looked down at Bruce. He always forgot Joker was a little taller than him, although the suit gave him a bit more height. “Yeah? Well, say it and go. I got a lot of time to rot in here and you’re taking that time up.”

“I wanted to say something before I left.”

Joker crossed his arms, hiding his hands from Bruce. The other times he locked Joker up in here, he had given his speech before they had removed his gloves and changed his clothes. There was a flesh of ruined flesh and nails before they were carefully hidden. The motion gave him a pang.

“I love you too.” Bruce said aloud to Joker, to the world, to himself.

Joker’s face showed true surprise and he didn’t cover it up. Instead, he slowly lowered his hands to his sides, staring at Bruce.

“I fought against you every step of the way because your actions go against the core of who I am. But you do see me and I see you. I understand the darkness inside me now better because of you and I understand what motivates you more than before. What ties us together is also our destruction. We are similar but too different. We are damaged individuals bent on self-destruction who stumbled across together in the worst way possible. And I love you because of that, despite of that. I should have told you sooner. Maybe years ago. But I didn’t realize it. I’m telling you now so you understand that even though I am locking you up in here, even though my code won’t allow us to be together, that I love you and will continue to love you.”

Bruce fell silent then. He wasn’t sure he had ever spoken this honestly and this long before – and to someone like Joker, of all people. But once the words were out there he felt…relief. The same relief when Joker discovered his identity, the same relief at when they finally kissed in the library. The shame that ate him up during their time together was gone; he had a deeper understanding of himself now. He couldn’t pick who he loved, all he could do was try to live his truth – even if that meant he couldn’t be with Joker the way he wanted to.

“You’re all introspective now,” Joker replied, “Took my advice. Talked to the butler too, didn’t you?”

“How did you know?”

He shrugged, not looking at Bruce, “Just do. Figured once you told him what was going on, he’d sort you out.” Running his fingers through his hair, he looked down at his feet. “This is it then?”

“Yes,” Bruce replied, “I should be going.”

“Right. Well. Go then, Bats. I’d say send a letter, drop by sometime, but it’s a little hard in here.”

Bruce reached for Joker’s hand, wishing he wasn’t in the bat suit for this moment, just so he could feel his skin against his. With his other hand, he tilted Joker’s face up to look at him.

Then he brought his lips against Joker’s. It was strange kissing him in the bat suit – he never would have dreamt of doing such a thing even a week ago. But there was no Batman and Bruce, just him, a whole singular person in love with someone that was dangerous, bad for him, who understood his heart. Joker’s lips parted with a soft sigh. By now his kiss was a familiar thing, like Gotham’s snowfalls, and Bruce allowed himself to savor it without the guilt that normally tugged on his heart.

When the kiss broke, Joker brought one finger with a chipped nail to Bruce’s lips, rubbing the lipstick off. “Wouldn’t want to get found out now, right Bats?” He joked softly.

Bruce took a step back from Joker, releasing his hold on his hand. He wanted to say more but what else was there to say? This was how the cards had fallen and this was how it ended. Anything more would be rubbing salt in the wound.

“See you around, Bats.”

The lump in his throat was too large to reply. Instead, Bruce nodded. He turned his back on the Joker, stepping out of the cell, the door closing and automatically locking behind him. He could not bring himself one more look, afraid if he saw Joker standing in that cell he would do something rash. Instead, with feet as heavy as cement, he walked down the hallway to the first security checkpoint where the two guards waited. One was holding Joker’s suit and gloves in a plastic bag.

“Gonna toss these once I get above ground. This post sucks.” Bruce heard him complaining to the other guard quietly.

“I’ll take them. The director wants them,” Bruce lied without thinking, “Wants to have them tested.”

If the guards wondered what the clothes would be being tested for, they didn’t ask. Maybe they didn’t care. The guard thrust the bag at Batman.

“Yeah, take ‘em. I don’t want anything that freak wore near me.”

Bruce held onto the clothes, taking the elevator back up to the main floor. The director was waiting there for him, an iPad in hand, looking at him expectantly.

After a brief conversation with him, Bruce walked out the front doors back into the fresh air. Having lied that he wanted the clothes for his own testing, he put them in the bat mobile and sent the car on its way back to Wayne Manor without him. He didn’t want to go home yet.

Instead, he took to the sky, ending back in the heart of Gotham City. Balancing on the top of Wayne Corp, he looked down below. The cops were long gone, the bombs had been taken back to the police station and the area was safe again. If Lucius hadn’t noticed, the outcome could have been much different. Not for the first time, he wondered what it would be like to have such a mind working alongside him with his Batman duties. Alfred was right – doing this completely alone wasn’t an option. Not after the subway tunnels. Not after what he went through with Joker.

Joker. Their history was a part of him now. Something he would never deny to himself again. His moral code was not infallible. It could not stop what his heart wanted. It could not heal his PTSD. In loving Joker, he learned something new about himself that he could now face.

Gotham was a glittering jewel under his feet. In the distance, he heard sirens.

The night was endless, the moon breaking through the clouds.

“ _Perhaps we will be together again one day_ ,” Joker had whispered in the clock tower, “ _When the stars go out, the tides rise and sweep across cities, or a full moon never leaves the sky. Stranger things have happened_.”

Stranger things had happened, like loving a tyrant and breaking the rules for him.

The sirens grew louder; somewhere in Gotham, someone was in trouble. That would never change.

Bruce took a running leap off the top of Wayne Corp and headed towards the danger.


	31. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> patreon: https://www.patreon.com/lylabanks
> 
> buy me a coffee: https://ko-fi.com/ryohazuki

Joker was unsure how much time had passed in Arkham. At least a night. His cell was dreadfully boring. Not much to do in here. Nothing to occupy his thoughts. Sprawled on his cot, staring up at the ceiling. His thoughts went to the one thing that gave him both pleasure and pain.

_I love you too._ He had said it. Allowed the universe to hear it. Bruce Wayne in love with him. Even locked up in here, probably forever in this new God forsaken ultra-secure cell, he couldn’t hate him. No. No, Joker loved him too much to hate him.

The images across his skull. Bruce at the dinner table after Joker realized he was Batman. The look on his face when stabbed. When he patched him up. Bruce had wanted to kiss him and didn’t even realize it. That was the problem with Bruce. Buried his feelings so deep Joker had to drag it out of him. Tiring. When he got dumped, he wasn’t surprised.

But the confession of love did surprise him. It would be his meal as he languished in this hell hole. The nights where they had sex, holding Bruce after, hearing those words – _I love you, I love you, I love you –_ there would be no getting out of Arkham. Not this time. Not in this underground cell. He would feed off these memories until he died.

Or until he forgot. Would he forget? He lived in fear of forgetting his time with Bruce. It was so hard to remember things. Like his hands. Joker held them in front of his face. Looked at the ruined skin and nails. Did he do this to himself or had someone else? Did it matter? No, what happened to him didn’t matter. But he wouldn’t let his memory warp this. Not this. Not Bruce. _I love you, I love you, I love you._

In some ways, he wasn’t surprised Bruce hadn’t liked his plan to blow up his company and tell everyone he was Batman. But Joker hoped he would give in to his heart. Instead of that stupid moral code. By far the worst thing about Bruce. Okay, maybe not the worst. Joker sort of liked the code, didn’t he? He liked trying to crack it. When Bruce killed him, that was transformative. Only one person could kill him and make him fall in love and it was Bruce.

He drummed his fingers against his chest. Stuck in here. No way out. Never see Bruce again. Would be easier to hate him. Impossible to hate him. He closed his eyes. Thought about their first kiss. The anguish behind it as Bruce crushed his lips against his in the library. The annihilation they toppled towards. The kiss in the cell last night. It had been gentle. A kiss good-bye. These memories would torment him. They would be his secret comfort.

A bleating of the alarm signaled a visitor. Joker cracked one eye open, already bored of whoever it would be. And great, it was that annoying director of Arkham again.

“Joker.” He called out, stepping close to the bars.

With a sigh, he swung his legs off the cot and walked over. “What is it, doc? Missed me?” How bored was he of toying with these Arkham idiots. He could do it in his sleep.

“You’re starting your sessions tomorrow.”

Goody. The last doctor had been so easy to crack, tragic really. All he needed to do was go into graphic detail about killing the doctor’s wife and the man quit. Honestly, what was he going to do with that? Joker hoped this time around they would skip the sessions.

Joker placed his hands against his chest. “Oh, doc, I’m so relieved. I have so many things to speak of. So many torments to relieve my soul from.” His heart wasn’t in this toying. He missed Bruce.

Dr. Arkham scowled. “You start your sessions tomorrow with Dr. Quinzel. Any of your usual funny business and you’ll be pulled off. No social interaction at all. We’ll let you go feral down here. I don’t care.”

Dr. Quinzel. The bubbly blonde who went tongue-tied at the sight of him. Really? Anyone with one working braincell knew she would crack the moment he applied pressure. She appeared smitten with him based off stories alone.

“If you don’t care, why am I getting a doctor?” Joker asked in the nicest voice he could muster. He was curious to know more.

The doctor cleared his throat. His skin looked like curdled milk, Joker thought absent mindedly. “Batman pushed for it before he left. Said not to give up on you, that our job here is to provide therapy for even people like you. He said Dr. Quinzel appeared up for the task.”

Joker’s breath caught. Chest tightened. Bruce tossed a gift in his lap. No, no, no. More than a gift. This wasn’t a toy for him when he was bored. This was his _way out of here._

“I feel so honored to be receiving treatment from someone the great Batman chose for me.” Joker replied carefully.

The doctor launched into his speech. The same boring one about no murder, no torturing Dr. Quinzel. Joker wasn’t listening. He wrapped his head around what Bruce did. Recommending Dr. Quinzel. The way she blushed at his words. Wanting to prove herself. Joker could see it all mapped out at his feet. What to say to her. The angle to use on her. The way to get out of here. No, don’t worry, good doctor. He wouldn’t need any threats for this one.

Bruce had given him this. Hope. True hope. He understood then. That Bruce got it. The darkness inside him. To toss a woman to the wolves – well, to one wolf, really. Bruce had decided he could live with himself when he suggested Dr. Quinzel. Because he couldn’t shut the door on them completely. He left it open just enough. Joker just had to do the rest. Even if he got out of here, Bruce wouldn’t rekindle their relationship. Joker knew that. But Bruce would still want to see him around Gotham. No, Joker wouldn’t be rotting down here after all. They were two sides of the same coin.

“Do you understand?” The curdled milk said.

“Crystal.” Joker replied.

The milk gave him one final look of disgust before turning around to leave. Joker curled his hands around the bars. Stared at the floor. Mind churning.

He broke out into a smile. A real one.

_I love you, I love you, I love you._

.the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read the fic, and thank you to everyone who took time out of their day to leave kudos, bookmark, or leave a comment. This story really turned into a sort of pandemic writing project for me and to see people enjoy the interpretation I took on Bruce and Joker has been a delight. I appreciate every person who checked out the fic. Thank you! <3


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